#essence of that. up the spurs <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlest-w01f · 7 months ago

Text

Treasure

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: You're his favourite treasure, he cherishes you above all else.

Cw: Dragon!Sylus, choking, Sylus being rough but also loving, dragons have 2 ds, size difference, double penetration, Smut 18+ MDNI, Fluffy end

A/N: Parasite won, Enjoy y'all <3 Fic on Ao3

Sylus loomed over your form, his massive draconic body pinning your frame against the glittering mounds of gold coins he had collected over centuries. The metal was cold against your flushed skin as you lay splayed out beneath him, knees and palms digging in the gold, helpless and at his mercy. His long, sinuous tail coiled around your slender throat, not tight enough to choke but a clear reminder of who was in control.

Sylus leaned down, his hot breath washing over your face as he inhaled your scent. A low, rumbling growl emanated from his chest, vibrating through your body pressed so intimately against his. "Mmmm, I'm going to claim every inch of you, little treasure," He purred, voice dripping with dark promise. "I'll fill you up until you're overflowing with my essence. Then I'll keep you by my side forever."

You giggled at his words, the sting of gold beneath you not bothering you one bit, "Promise?" You smiled from ear to ear.

Sylus chuckled darkly, amused by your playful tone despite the precarious position you found yourself in. His forked tongue flicked out, tracing along the shell of your ear as he whispered huskily, "Oh yes, my sweet little kitten. And I always keep my promises... Especially when it comes to claiming what's mine."

His massive clawed hands began to roam your curves possessively, mapping out every dip and swell of your body. One hand cupped your breast, kneading the soft skin as his thumb brushed teasingly over your nipple through the thin fabric of your gown. The other slid down your stomach, coming to rest on your hip as he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the growing heat of his arousal.

"I'm going to worship this body of yours," Sylus rumbled, his voice sending shivers down your spine. Sylus continued his sensual assault, his claws carefully shredding away the flimsy fabric of your gown until you were bare before him, laid out like an offering amidst the glittering hoard. He drank in the sight of your naked form, his crimson eyes burning with unbridled lust and possession.

"Exquisite," He purred, his long serpentine tongue unfurling to lap at the sensitive skin of your neck, tasting your quickening pulse. "Every curve, every hollow... I'm going to savor every inch of you."

Sylus' massive form loomed over your exposed body, his scales glinting in the dim light filtering into the dragon's lair. The heat radiating off his powerful frame enveloped you, a stark contrast to the cool coins beneath your back. His clawed fingers traced intricate patterns on your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they mapped the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips.

Leaning down, Sylus' long, dexterous tongue snaked out to taste the salt on your skin. It dragged slowly up the column of your throat, pausing to flick against your racing pulse point, to your back, over your spine. A deep, rumbling purr vibrated through his chest and into your body pinned beneath him.

"My precious treasure," He growled softly, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. He used his tail to tip your head back, forcing your back to arch with his claws at the base of your spine.

Your wanton moans only spurred on Sylus' desire. His long, forked tongue delved between your parted lips, invading your mouth and tangling with your own tongue in a heated dance. The musky taste of the dragon filled your senses as he plundered your mouth thoroughly, staking his claim.

As Sylus' tongue dominated your mouth, his free hand drifted lower, fingers brushing against the slick folds of your cunt. A guttural groan rumbled in his chest at the evidence of your arousal, how wet you already were for him.

Breaking the kiss, Sylus gazed down at you with smouldering crimson eyes, his pupils dilated with primal hunger. "So eager, little treasure," He purred, voice thick with lust. "But we've barely begun." Sylus' voice was thick with approval and lust. "Your body knows who it belongs to. Who it craves."

"You..." You moaned loudly, the sound vibrating in the cave, "Sy-"

Sylus growled in satisfaction at your needy moan, the sound of your pleasure music to his ears. His clawed finger circled your clit teasingly, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm beneath him. "That's right, say my name," He commanded huskily, nipping at your earlobe. "Let all of my realm know who is claiming you, who is making you feel this good."

The dragon's other hand continued its exploration of your curves, palming your breast roughly. He pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. Sylus's muscular tail tightened slightly around your throat again, not cutting off air but asserting his dominance, his control over your pleasure. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, so deep, with all of me."

Sylus's massive, ridged cocks sprang free from its sheath, the flared heads already weeping with precum. They throbbed heavily, the thick lengths pulsing with barely contained need as he positioned himself at your entrance. The heat radiating off his cocks was intense, one feverish against your slick cunt, the other tracing against your ass.

"Beg for it, for me," Sylus demanded, his voice a low, authoritative growl. The tip of his cocks nudged insistently at your openings, already stretched from how many times he had taken you, body still sensitive, not quite pushing inside yet. His clawed hands gripped your hips bruisingly tight, holding you in place as he loomed over you. "Tell me how badly you need to be claimed, to be filled by your dragon master. Let me hear those pretty pleas falling from your lips." The dragon's eyes blazed with feral hunger as he stared down at you, pupils dilated with lust.

Your mind reeled under the onslaught of sensations, overwhelmed by just the memory of the sheer size and heat of Sylus' body pressing against you. The rough grip on your hips, the insistent prodding at your entrances, the commanding growl in his voice, all combined to push you closer to the edge.

"Please- Oh please, Sylus!" You begged shamelessly, your eyes glazed over with desperate need as you stared at his magnificent dual, scaly cocks jutting out proudly from his sheath. "I need them so badly, I need you."

Your hips bucked up instinctively, trying to impale yourself on his impressive cocks, but Sylus' grip held you firmly in place. The drag of his cockheads against your soaked folds sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core. A smirk on his beautiful face as he watched you struggle and beg.

The dragon's triumphant roar echoed off the cavern walls as he surged forward, burying both thick, veiny cocks deep within your welcoming heat. Your cunt clenched tightly around the girth stretching it, while your ass squeezed in protest at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck... Please! Claim me, ruin me for anyone else! I'm yours, all yours!" Your whines echoed wantonly through the cavern, bouncing off the glittering piles of gold surrounding your entwined forms as Sylus began to move, his cocks stuffing you so fully, tears sprang in your eyes, filled to the brim you could feel his cocks rub against each other by the skin that separated them.

"Aaahh, yes! Take it all, my perfect little treasure," Sylus snarled in ecstasy, relishing the vice-like grip of your walls around his cocks. He set a brutal pace immediately, pounding into you with the strength and endurance of a dragon. Each snap of his hips drove his cocks impossibly deeper, stirring up your insides and hitting places you never knew existed.

Sylus' massive form engulfed you as he leaned down, his wings wrapping around your entwined bodies like a leathery cocoon. His long, sinuous tongue invaded your mouth once more, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he kissed you deeply, passionately. The dragon's claws raked down your sides, leaving faint red lines in their wake as he gripped you tighter, pulling you flush against his sweat-slicked scales.

Your entire world narrowed to the searing pleasure of being utterly consumed by Sylus' dual cocks. Every thrust, every drag of his cocks along your inner walls, sent sparks of electric bliss coursing through your veins. Your body clamped down greedily, milking him as if trying to draw out every last drop of his essence.

The sensation of his cocks rubbing together, separating your skin, was almost too much to bear. It added a new dimension of depraved delight to the brutal fucking, each collision of scaled flesh against tender tissue sending aftershocks rippling through your quivering form.

Sylus' powerful body moved above you with a fluid grace, despite his size, his muscles flexing and rippling beneath his scales. His wings wrapped protectively around you, shielding you from the rest of the world as he claimed you in the most primal way possible.

Breaking the kiss, Sylus nipped and sucked at your neck, determined to mark you as his. He wanted everyone to see the evidence of his claim, the proof of your belonging to him alone. His hips never faltered in their relentless rhythm, each powerful thrust shaking your entire body and driving you closer to the edge. "That's it, my little treasure."

Sylus' thrusts grew even more frenzied, his massive cocks pistoning in and out of you with animalistic abandon. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the cavern, mingling with your wanton moans and the dragon's guttural growls of pleasure.

His barbed ridges caught on your inner walls with each withdrawal, dragging deliciously against your sensitive nerves and prolonging your rapidly building climax. One clawed hand snaked between your writhing bodies to find your aching clit, rubbing the swollen nub in tight circles.

"That's it, cum for me," Sylus commanded, his voice a dark, seductive rumble. "Cum on me like the desperate little kitten you are. Show me how much you love being claimed, being used for my pleasure!"

Your body obeyed Sylus' command without hesitation, the coil of tension in your core snapping violently. A guttural scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of mind-numbing ecstasy flooding your system. Your walls clamped down rhythmically on Sylus' pistoning cocks, rippling and fluttering as they tried to milk him for all he was worth.

As your release washed over you, Sylus roared in triumph, the sound echoing off the cavern walls. Your spasming walls felt incredible around his throbbing shafts, gripping him like a velvet vise. He continued to pound into you throughout your climax, extending your pleasure until you were nothing but a boneless, mewling mess beneath him.

With a final, brutal thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt inside your convulsing heat. His cocks pulsed and twitched as he reached his own peak, flooding your body with jets of scalding cum. The sheer volume of which was staggering.

Panting harshly, Sylus collapsed onto his side, still keeping you pinned beneath him. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, a stark contrast to his earlier roughness.

"Hmm…" You sighed softly as Sylus released every little drop of himself inside you, his scaly tail stroking your side. You bring him closer by his cheeks, into a deep kiss.

Sylus returned your kiss with fervour, his long-forked tongue twining sensually with yours. He poured all of his passion, his possession, into the intimate embrace. When he finally pulled back, his crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction and tender affection.

"My perfect little mate," He rumbled softly, nuzzling into your neck. "You took me so well, so eagerly. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be mine."

The dragon's clawed hands began to explore your curves with reverent gentleness now, tracing the dips and swells of your body as if committing every inch to memory. His touch left tingles of pleasure in its wake, stoking the embers of desire that still smouldered within you despite your recent release.

After hours, he had rested you down in his bed, his precious treasure, the most precious thing he had ever taken. A part of him wanted to keep you locked away forever like the rest of his hoard, but you were too endearing for him to deny freedom. Such a fragile creature, yet strong enough to captivate a dragon's heart.

Sylus gazed down at your sleeping form, a rare softness in his ancient crimson eyes. The way the moonlight streaming through the cavern windows caressed your skin made you look ethereally beautiful, nothing less than a goddess. He couldn't resist trailing a single talon lightly along the curve of your cheek, marvelling at the silken smoothness.

At that moment, the dragon realized that no amount of gold or jewels could ever compare to the priceless treasure you represented. Not just the physical pleasure and companionship, but the warmth, the joy, the sense of connection he felt when he was with you, things he had been missing for centuries. A small, possessive growl rumbled in his chest as he gathered you closer, one wing draping protectively over your body.

Sylus remained awake long after you drifted off, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks in sleep. He marvelled at the trust you placed in him, the way you curled into his embrace so naturally as if you belonged there.

As dawn approached, the first rays of sunlight filtering into the cavern bathed your skin in a warm, golden glow. It seemed to highlight the delicate beauty of your features, the soft swell of your breasts rising with each breath. Sylus felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest, a tenderness that went beyond mere lust or possessiveness.

Unable to resist, he leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. He savoured the taste of you, the feel of your soft lips moving against his.

Your eyes fluttered open at the kiss, "Is it morning already?" You whispered groggily.

Sylus chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest and sending pleasant shivers across your bare skin. "Almost," He murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I didn't mean to disturb you. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful sleeping."

He tilted your chin up slightly, studying your drowsy expression with a mix of adoration and hunger. "I've grown accustomed to having you close, my sweet mate. The thought of waking up without you beside me... It doesn't sit well with me."

Slowly, deliberately, Sylus leaned in to capture your lips once more, this time with a depth of emotion that bordered on reverence. He poured all of his longing, his devotion, into the kiss, hoping to convey the magnitude of what you'd awakened in him.

Sylus broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jawline, nipping gently at the tender skin. "Tell me you want to stay with me," He breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending delightful shivers down your spine. "Tell me you're already addicted to the feeling of my cock inside you, to the sound of my roar as I claim you."

His words were punctuated by teasing bites and licks, working their way down your neck to your collarbone. "Because I certainly am addicted to you, my precious treasure. Every curve, every scent, every moan that falls from your lips has me ensnared."

"Sylus..." You breathed softly, hand stroking down his cheek, the dragon scale that mixed with human-like skin. You pressed your palm flat against the glowing red gem that made up the centre of his chest, "I love you. And yes. I feel it. Everything."

At your declaration, Sylus' eyes widened, his pupils dilating with surprise and overwhelming emotion. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his breath catching in his throat. Then, with a low, rumbling growl, he claimed your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss.

When he finally broke away, his gaze was intense, burning with a depth of feeling you'd never seen before. "My love, my heart, my everything," He rasped, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never dreamed I could feel this way about another being. But from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special. Unique. Irreplaceable."

Sylus cupped your face in his massive hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks. "I love you, my y/n. With every fiber of my being, I adore you. And there is no love is purer than mine."

Emotions overwhelmed the dragon, causing him to crush you against his broad chest. His arms enveloped you like a living shield, securing you safely against his warmth. "I'm yours, completely," He vowed, his voice trembling with the force of his feelings. "Body, heart, soul. All of me belongs to you, now and forever."

As if to seal his promise, Sylus sealed his lips to yours once more. This time, the kiss was tender, almost chaste, yet still imbued with the depth of his love. He held you close, savoring the closeness, the unity, the perfect harmony of two souls entwined as one.

And in that moment, neither of you noticed nor cared for the first hints of daylight creeping further into the cavern, casting the space in a warm glow, the sound of the songbirds something distant.

1K notes · View notes

jjwistar · 8 months ago

Text

( drabble ) vampiro ̨ ! 𓉸ྀི 一 이해찬 ՞

vampire!haechan x f!reader • NSFW (mdni)

genre: smut cw: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), dirty talk, creampie, yandere vibes; reqs: open | m.list

vampire!haechan who was absolutely and completely obsessed with you. he's seen a lot of attractive people in his life, but you were by far the most enchanting creature he's ever laid eyes on—which says a lot considering he's been alive for the best part of the last 500 years.

vampire!haechan who would follow you at night just to make sure you were safe. he wouldn't call it stalking as he had no intention of hurting you or anything like that, but just knowing you were safe would put his non-pumping heart at ease.

vampire!hyuck who was a huge bit of a perv. he knew where you lived, obviously. and sometimes he'd sneak into your room to watch you sleep, utterly smitten with you. and sometimes, during your deep slumber, he'd snag a panty or two—he'd have them wrapped around his thick and aching cock during the nights when his thoughts were solely focused on you and your addicting scent:

"fuck y-y/n... wish i was fucking your pretty pussy instead right now" he'd moan into the late hours of the night. "bet you'd be so tight and warm... fuck i wanna ruin you..." after replacing the image of his fist with fiercly fucking into your tight walls, he came in no time.

vampire!hyuck who finally introduced himself to you and was able to get close to you and actually ask you out and become romantic partners. it didn't take long for the both of you to let your relationship grow hot and heavy...

haechan was fucking into you with so much fervor, you thought that you were going to pass out. you're not entirely sure how you both ended up here; your ass up, back arched, and face smushed into the sheets while haechan was practically splitting you open. but honestly, you're too fucked out to care. "fuck, baby, you're squeezing me so good."

your brain was mush; all you can comprehend was the beautiful man hitting all the right places inside of you. your mind could only repeat his name like a mantra 'hyuck hyuck hyuck' god you could feel him in your guts, you could feel him in the back of your throat, you could feel him absolutely everywhere.

before you could process anything next, haechan unloads so much of his cum into your spent pussy. "ugh baby... fu-uck yeah, just like that. take it, take all of it. g-gonna fill you up for days..." your eyes rolled so far back into your head, you swear you see heaven. you feel oh so deliciously full; full of his cock, full of his cum, and so full of his love. no lover of yours has ever made you so loved before.

you can't even come down from this high properly because he's already flipping you onto your back and slotting his head between your thighs. haechan was nothing if not a messy fucker. immediately, he got to work on your cum-filled hole. he was eating you out like a man starved. you were so overstimulated and sensitive, you knew you weren't gonna last. "hyuck... n'more please." there were pathetic tears in your eyes, and they only spurred him on even more. moving his face away from your perfect cunt, he pleads, "c'mon baby, gimme one more. please baby, i know y'got one more."

he goes back to making out with your sensitive pussy; no rhythm in his technique, just desperately wanting to get more of your addicting juices from you. you were spasming from the overstimulation, and before you knew it, you came. you were practically a gushing waterfall and you covered haechan's entire face in your essence. god, he'd bathe in your cum if you'd let him.

"fuck, baby... you squirted everywhere." he had a crazed look in his eyes, and his fangs were protruding; so sharp, so dangerous, so arousing.

hey! first drabble on this account, yay! i suck at endings but i hope you guys enjoy this! :3

518 notes · View notes

nrc-asteryn-crew · 2 months ago

Text

Mace snickered, attempting to stifle his laughter, but was wholely unsuccessful as he ended up dissolving into cackles, bringing an arm up to hover the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Oh- oh my sevens- sorry, sorry- I swear I'm not laughing at'cha- I just- oh man just hearing that asshole get referred to as 'Lord Shroud'-" He stuttered out in between huffs of laughter, before sighing lightly, not without a few more giggles to himself.

"Anyways. He gets like- suuuper pissy when his games are at risk, which'll prolly make 'im extra stubborn 'bout it- yeah- but it's me we're talkin' 'bout too. He'll hafta agree eventually, it's the least 'e can do for me anyway." He said, slight traces of contemptment and bitterness swirling in his tone.

Mace stretched, his arms out behind him and a small squeak escaping him as his back cracked. He then grinned, and held out a thumbs up in the air.

"Sooo don't worry 'bout it! You'll know as soon as it 'appens."

(...open!!!! Idk if anyone has any kind of interest in this arc as it slowly plays out but.)

A tall, elegant seeming young man wandered through the halls of Diasomnia, clearly on a mission. He seemed to take in his surroundings with a sense of wonder and fascination glimmering in his eyes, but said nothing as he observed.

Eventually, he seemed to take a turn down the first year wing, an odd sight for someone who was clearly a young adult.

He stopped by a room at the end of the hall, checking the number on the door before knocking.

"Casimir. Would you be so kind as to open the door?" The man asked in a monotonous voice, his expression devoid of any sort of emotion.

#ooc //#OMG OMG IM SO SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE SJGJ qwq #when i tell u i was gonna do this yesterday after being busy the last 2 days but ended up absolutely konking out SUUPER EARLY......#and im still freaking tired as hell so fuck that ig /lh /silly #mace: “i just want you to stop sayin odd shit” /lh #<- I WAS LITERALLY GONNA MAKE THAT REFERENCEEE AHAHA #also the whole last response or two eas kinda spurred on by my own personal thoughts on things like that #i love seeing how people create and leave behind pieces of themselves in spaces.#sorry thats not related but a thought i wanted to share anyways fjfjfjfjf #<- ok i was gnna paste the whole like wall here but it looked really odd so errr!!! LMAO #BUT NO NO THATS TOTALLY FINE DONT APOLOGISEEE #its so so interesting to see i love hearing peoples silly thoughts like that /pos #thats so real thoooo like 4 me its just like having that evidence that other people are in fact alive too and live a normal life like yours #n that they have their own thoughts and experiences that are completely different from yours and yet so simmilar in essence :3 #its so fun!!!! n its a really nice kind of joy to see things like that around C:

152 notes · View notes

zorosangell · 2 months ago

Text

⛥ﾟ・。 orchids

SECRET BONUS/prequel to pocus -- (a year after merienda) after a three-month long mission, katakuri comes home to a rather interesting surprise... aka the story of Soda's conception.

cw: nsfw, fluff, comfort, katakuri is a bit awkward, he is twenty-three, you are twenty-two, KATAKURI'S GOT IT BAD, reader is a sweetheart.

a/n: took way too long pt.3 </3 will it ever end? no.

Through the pouring rain, Katakuri's heavy footfalls bounded off the damp air, the rhythmic chink of his spurs counting down his approach toward the large, imposing front door of his mansion.

His thick cloak weighed heavy on his tired shoulders, his muscles rigid and stiff with a building tension that was just begging to be released.

Three months.

It had been a whole three months since he'd last seen you.

Last held you...

Last heard your voice...

Last felt your touch...

And he very well felt like he was going insane.

Extended missions were often few and far between for the Sweet Commander—maybe only once or twice a year—but when they came, they were long, and of the utmost importance.

When Big Mom called on him for an assignment, it was because the task required a certain caliber of power and precision that only he possessed, a certain cold calculation that only he could apply.

He was, quite literally, the only man for the job.

And before you became his sweet, little wife, he honestly had no problem with it.

His missions invited excitement and danger into his life, allowing him to face off with opponents relative to his strength and provide brief periods of rest from the ever-constant pressure of being around his family.

He would finally be able to let loose and get back to the true essence of being a pirate past territories and mind-numbing paperwork.

In fact, he would even go as far as to say that they were the times where he was most happy.

But... all of that changed when he finally found a reason to enjoy home.

You.

You eliminated the main reason why he relished staying gone by being your typical, supportive, and understanding self.

Within your presence, he no longer had to worry about remaining flawless or exuding perfection, as you preferred him when he was being his authentic self.

You gave him respite from the perpetual stress he faced due to his family, never asking for or expecting more than what he could offer.

You gave him comfort in times where he began to doubt himself, showering him with praise and sweet nothings as you held him close.

There was no need for missions anymore because he had all the sanctuary he required in you, all the love and care he could ever want right at home.

But, sadly, life had a funny way of dangling happiness just out of his reach.

Stepping up onto the front porch, Katakuri's eyes softened as they landed on the two large flower pots on either side of the door.

Within them were freshly-planted orchids, their rich, pink petals stretching out as far and as wide as his large palm.

Your handiwork, he presumed.

They were your favorite flower, as you often said their color reminded you of his deep, magenta hair.

Little things like that—trivial to others—were the things that made him miss you even more.

Things only you could think of, connections only your beautiful mind could make.

God, he couldn't wait to have you all to himself...

Not wasting another second, he removed his key from his pocket, using it to unlock the door with a loud click.

"Shit!" a soft voice from inside hissed, the sound promptly followed by a rather harsh thud.

Instantly, Katakuri's brows furrowed, sharp pang of fear shooting through his stomach.

'What the...?'

What the hell just scurried across the foyer?

He had only just relieved the guards from their duty—you had security detail at all times when he was absent—and up until then, the huge gate at the entrance of his estate had been locked up tight for the night.

Nothing could've gotten in... and he certainly would've sensed danger if someone were trying to escape.

Tired of supposing, he simply pushed the door open, eyes widening and breath hitching at the sight that greeted him.

"Surprise!" you exclaimed, smile blinding as you happily jumped out from behind a decorative table. "Welcome home, Kuri!"

Somehow, the house had been turned into some sort of makeshift honeymoon suite, the lights dimmed and walkways lined with rose petals and candles, incense filling the room with a light haze, which smelled of sandalwood and jasmine.

To his right was a small, candlelit dinner for two, sashimi and beef tataki lining the plates along with two glasses of premium wine to match.

To his left was a flowery trail leading right upstairs, the soft hum of a music transponder snail adding to the atmosphere as it played lowly in the background.

And there, at the middle of it all, was you...

Katakuri's heart practically stuttered to a stop, eyes widening slightly as he caught sight of your soft form.

You stood shyly, delicious curves on display in the very nightgown you had tried—and succeeded—seducing him in during your first merienda together.

Your hair, freshly washed, cascaded beautifully over your shoulders, framing your face and slightly shading your eyes in a way that gave his hands an itch to rake through it.

Not to mention your newly-lotioned skin glowing in the soft candlelight, making you look so smoothe and soft and primed for holding.

"(y/n)..." he started, both confused and painfully aroused, as he shut the door behind himself, locking it. "What... are you doing?"

You faltered, an awkward expression settling on your face.

"Being... romantic?"

Katakuri paused a moment, waiting to see if you'd change your answer, before a dark tinge of blush began to burn on his cheeks.

Instantly, your face flushed, embarrassment beginning to sink in at his silence.

Your worst fear had been realized.

"Oh, my God, you hate it," you muttered, utterly mortified as you clasped a hand over your mouth.

Something had told you to ask him first rather than make it a surprise, but you just had to get excited and jump the gun.

And now you were paying the price.

"What? N-No!" he stumbled, not wanting you to get the wrong idea. "I don't hate it... I'm just..."

He let out a heavy sigh, shrugging off his cloak and scarf, hanging them up on the rack before starting toward you.

"This was unexpected, is all."

Nervously, your lip jutted in a slight pout, your eyes avoiding all contact with the man as he moved closer.

"I thought you deserved something nice after being away for so long... since this is the first time we've been apart," you limply explained, turning away from him. "But I guess it's all kinda cheesy..."

As he moved to stand in front of you, Katakuri's forefinger and thumb came up to hold your chin, turning you to face him where you were met with a soft kiss to your hairline.

Your eyes widened, and as quickly as he came, he left, leaving you slightly stunned.

"It's sweet," he corrected, thumb smoothing over the skin of your cheek. "I can tell you put a lot of effort into this"

You perked up at the last part, turning to him eagerly, eyes glinting with hope.

"Really?" you asked, sounding surprised, your expression downright adorable.

Suddenly, the music, the clothes, and the absolutely tantalizing scent of you began to work their magic on him.

All of his thoughts and reason faded into thin air as he stared into your gorgeous, doe eyes.

"Really," he confirmed, voice low and wanting.

And you could only let out a tiny gasp as he pulled you in, pressing his lips against yours to finally claim you after all this time.

You went completely slack in his hold, sinking into the kiss with another small gasp as his tongue parted your lips.

Finding a hold on his shoulders, your hands clung tightly to him, moving to press your body against him as much as humanly possible.

Your craving for more of him was cut short as he broke the kiss, pulling away from you as he cupped your face.

His thumb ran softly over your lips, leaving you unable to respond, still dumbstruck by his sudden burst of confidence.

His hand moved gently down your neck, sliding the strap of your nightgown down your shoulder ever so slightly, you letting out a timid whimper.

Katakuri's face looked to yours as you turned away, embarrassed by the noise that escaped you.

He flushed from ear to ear, pleasantly surprised.

You pouted, lips pursed as you pulled the general in by his shoulders, "Kuri..."

Your lips crashed against his with need, pouring every ounce of feeling you harbored for him all this time.

His arms wrapped around you, and before you knew it, you were in your shared bedroom, falling onto the ginormous mattress with a soft creak, his body completely enveloping you.

Katakuri's tongue played with yours as your hands moved across each other's skin, exploring places they already knew and places they'd never touched in a more passionate way.

The man completely slid the straps of your nightgown off your shoulders, sitting up just enough to help you pull it over your head.

With hooded eyes, he watched as your breasts bounced out, wasting no time in taking one into his mouth.

You let out a breathy moan, back arching to accommodate him, hands running through his hair.

Though, suddenly, he stopped, pushing himself up on his hands as looking down at you.

Panting, you tilted your head while looking up at him.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, as if he was in deep thought.

"I usually wake up by now..."

Heart melting, you broke into a smile, sitting up to meet him and pull him back into a kiss.

Breathing against his lips, you cupped his face gently.

"M'not goin' anywhere, Kuri. I'm right here."

The general let out a quiet exhale, kissing you softly before moving down to your neck.

Shivers ran through your whole body, thighs clenching tight and craving more friction.

Slowly, he shifted your legs apart to kneel down between them, pulling off his gloves with his teeth before flippantly tossing them aside.

You felt a flush roll over your entire body, entranced with the look he gave you as he intensely eyed your form.

He kissed the palm of your hand, then your wrist, working his way down your arm and then back to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around him as he slid his hand down your stomach and into your panties.

Your breath caught in your throat, clinging to him helplessly as his fingers rubbed between your wet folds. Then, after a little searching, circled gently around your clit with the rough pads of his calloused fingers.

Katakuri continued to kiss you, drowning out your moans and gasps, devouring your lips as if he was finally able to sate a ravenous hunger.

He couldn't get enough, the way your tongue felt against his, the sound of your hitched breathing, and the way your whole body quivered as he teased between your legs.

His fingers slipped down inside of you again, feeling your cunt clench around the two he prodded you with.

"Breathe," he purred against your mouth, his voice a tone you had never heard him speak in before.

It made you tremble, raking your nails over his back.

Katakuri let out a small hiss, loving the feeling they left over his skin.

He continued to tease and please the surface of your skin, kissing you everywhere he was able to reach.

Until you couldn't take it anymore.

Cupping his face and bringing him back to your lips, you kissed him with all the intensity you could gather.

When you pulled away, you gave his lower lip a small nip, then laid back against the plush comforter.

"Kuri, please..." his eyes went slightly wide, and you noticed his breath hitch, "...fuck me."

There was a fire behind his eyes as he removed his fingers from you.

He gripped your panties to pull them off, but when they didn't move immediately, Katakuri let out a frustrated growl, and pulled until they ripped in two like tissue in his hands.

You stared at the frayed fabric a second, too dumbfounded to even react.

The way his muscles flexed during the act of ripping your clothes made you feel as if you were gushing like a geyser.

...But that was still a very expensive set of panties.

"I'll buy you more," he stated, already predicting what you were going to say.

He cast the shreds of your clothes aside and began to slide out of the rest of his own, shrugging off his leather vest and kicking off his boots before pulling down his pants and removing his boxers.

Finally, the two of you were naked in front of each other for the first time.

You both just stared at each other, him on his knees, and you now propping yourself up on your elbows.

Katakuri eyed you up and down, the flush across his face and ears seeping down to his upper chest and shoulders.

It seemed as if he'd stopped functioning, taken by your actual living, breathing form beneath him.

He bent down at the waist, touching your hip as he swallowed hard, suddenly incredibly nervous.

You also felt heat rising through your body, now feeling shy as you were truly exposed in front of the man you had fallen for.

His intense stare was driving you wild, but you could also see the gears in his head grinding to a halt.

He was trying to hide his nervousness.

In an attempt to soothe him, you sat up, running your hands over his shoulders with a comforting smile.

"You all right, Kuri?" you cooed softly, the man feeling your touch and instantly calming down.

The red in his cheeks sunk deeper at his nickname, and he swallowed hard, "You're... so beautiful, (y/n)...

He touched your face, his eyes heavy and dark with desire, only reflecting you at this distance

"I don't want to hurt you..."

Reassuringly, your nose rubbed against his, spreading your legs a little more for him as he shifted his hips naturally into place above your own.

Both of your breathing picked back up, lips brushing tentatively, the dam of passion quickly filling back up and beginning to spill over.

"You won't," your body shivered as he slipped a hand between you both, lining up the head of his cock with your wet slit.

Katakuri grit his teeth as he slowly pushed himself in. Your head threw back with a throaty mewl as your fingers dug into his shoulders, sliding them down over his inked chest.

He was far bigger than the one or two others you had in the past, but it didn't take much or long before he had you filled to the brim with all he had to give.

After a few deep breaths from you both, you adjusted to his size, but still let out a shocked moan as he rolled his hips gently into yours.

The movement caused your walls to flutter around him, a small shock of pleasure pulsing through your body.

It was the smallest of movements from him, but you already craved more.

You pulled him in for another heated kiss, moaning into his mouth as he began a slow place with his thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, Katakuri buried his face in your neck, groaning loudly.

"F-fuck, you feel... so good—" his moan was caught in his throat when you shifted your hips to give him a better angle.

His thrusts became deeper with the new access, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

The general kissed and sucked along your neck and collarbone, adding to the sensations you were already feeling, knowing you would be covered in marks by morning.

You lifted his face to look at you as you gasped out for him.

"Kuri... please..."

Placing a peck on your lips, he nodded as he took a moment to shift the two of you slightly, sitting up on his knees and lifting your hips with him, your upper back rubbing harshly against the cover of the comforter.

He wrapped your legs around him, running his rough palms up and down your thighs a few times until his hands gripped your hips.

Without warning, his cock drilled more harshly inside you, hearing a loud smack as his hips made contact with yours.

Fingers digging into his hands, your eyes rolled back again as he began a whole new assault on your soaking cunt.

Again and again and again, he pounded against you with such force you had to brace yourself against the mattress.

Katakuri fucked you hard and raw, picking up speed the louder your moans got, quite thankful that you'd let all the staff go for the night—he didn't sense a single soul in the house save for you two.

Your legs struggled to keep tight around him, nearly flailing as your toes curled and feet kicked.

Right there.

You felt your orgasm building closer and closer to a sweet peak that you had been chasing, craving, cying out for.

Your eyes met his as he licked his lips, knuckles white against your hips as he sprinted you both to the finish line.

He was a man possessed, desiring only you and the pleasures your bodies brought.

Neither of you could form the words, but the look on his face told you everything he wanted as if you could hear him speaking the words.

Cum for me...

Arching your back, you cried out loudly as you creamed around him, muscles and walls clenching harshly on his pulsing cock as you felt his hips begin to stutter, emptying deep inside you with a growl that matched your vibrato.

The world had gone white, feeling only the pressure of his cock twitching inside you and his fingers releasing your hips from his hold as bruises formed in their place.

Katakuri lowered them gently, still not removing himself as he looked you over, touching your face tenderly as he admired the marks he gifted you.

You felt as if you were glowing, and from his perspective you were, your hair sprawled out and wild among the pillows, creating a natural halo around your head.

It was as if he had an angel beneath him...

His thumb brushed your lips, mesmerized that he gave you your current fucked-out and dreamy smile.

"I love you... so much..."

He held you tightly in his arms, the two of you enjoying the pleasure of each other's company well into the night.

And nine months later... your firstborn son, Soda, was born.

#zorosangell #one piece x reader #one piece #op #charlotte katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #charlotte #katakuri #katakuri x reader

281 notes · View notes

scary-grace · 4 months ago

Text

PARIAH (part 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, multi-POV, 10k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! All the typical warnings one might expect for a fic about vampires. If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

part i part ii

part iii

You recoil from him with all the strength you possess, panic surging through you. You’re able to master it for only a split second – long enough to search out his vital signs, to confirm that his unconsciousness is a temporary state rather than a harbinger of his death – before your fear drives you back across the room away from him, so far that your back is pressed against the opposite wall. Even then, you can barely breathe. The taste of human blood still clings to your tongue.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, potent and intoxicating, the way alcohol must feel to humans whose metabolisms can’t grasp that it’s poison. But the taste of the human’s blood isn’t why you’ve fled from him, or at least it doesn’t feel like the reason. When you bowed your head to his neck and struggled to draw away, you weren’t battling a desire to sink your teeth into the marks the Old One left behind. It wasn’t his blood that you wanted.

Or was it? The hunger is insidious, you were always told. It hides itself in whatever form it must in order to lure you into satiating it. When some new sensation, some new emotion takes hold, you must always assume it’s vampiric, not human. You need no other reason to stay as far from this human as possible.

But you can’t do that. You can’t leave him sprawled out on the table; he needs to rest, and eat and drink when he wakes up, and that means you need to have something to feed him. You have to find a place to put him that’s more comfortable, and you can only think of your own bed, often unused and certainly going unused tonight, regardless of where you put the human. The human – Shigaraki. You don’t know his given name, but you can still taste his blood.

That knowledge above all else is what spurs you to action. You seize the bowl of water you were soaking the bandages in and raise it to your lips.

If the Old One drank this, even in its diluted form, it would burn him alive from the inside out. You hold it in your mouth, eyes watering from the pain, until you can take it no longer. When you stumble to the front door, open it, and spit out into the dirt, most of your taste buds fall away with it, salt from the inland sea functioning the same as acid would. You won’t be able to taste anything for a while. But you can’t taste Shigaraki’s blood, and that’s the important thing. You’ll never be pure again, but you are clean, and clear enough of mind to assess the situation properly.

The longer you think about it, the worse it gets. If all you had done was clash with the priest over an innocent man’s life, that would be permissible, acceptable, necessary. But the man in question is the Old One’s chosen host, and you didn’t just rescue him from the priest – you brought him to your home and deliberately stripped the Old One’s essence from his body. Even if you were nothing but a witch dwelling at the edge of the world, it would have been desperately unwise to do.

But you aren’t a witch dwelling at the edge of the woods. You’re one of three surviving members of the order Academia, dedicated to the defeat of vampires and the preservation of humanity, and you’re supposed to be in hiding. The other two are Professors, and it’s their job to kill vampires. Your job is to stay hidden, to preserve Academia’s vast stores of knowledge within both the archive and your memory, and if necessary, to rebuild the order from the ground up if all the Professors are killed. At this moment, however, the Professors are safer than they’ve ever been. All the Old One’s thought is bent on claiming his newest host, and you’ve stolen him. The Old One is after you.

You haven’t just endangered yourself. You’ve endangered the order, after being charged with protecting it when you barely understood what that meant, and worse still, you can’t see how you could have averted this outcome. Any course of action that included rescuing Shigaraki from the villagers inevitably ends here. The only course that wouldn’t have was to let him die.

When you think of the order members you’ve known over your time as the lighthouse keeper, it’s easy to imagine what they’d have done. To a fault, they’d have left Shigaraki’s fate to Father Torino. But the order is meant to protect humanity, and Shigaraki is still human. More human than you are. More human by half. If you deserve to live, so does he. You straighten up, breathe deep, and force yourself again to assess the situation. You may not be a hunter, but you are an archive. You know all you need to know in order to survive this night. The rest can be dealt with in the morning.

You’re certain of it, certain that no matter how far out of your depth you feel, you have the knowledge to prevail – but when you step back inside and see Shigaraki still sprawled on the table, multiple pieces of your resolve falter at once. The idea of going near him again frightens you. You know to be afraid of your hunger, no matter its origins. But you aren’t a child, and even when you were, you never stooped to drinking human blood. You delay as long as possible, rearranging your bed and fluffing the pillows, before turning back to the table.

Shigaraki’s been insensate, but absent the Old One’s influence clogging his veins, he must be a light sleeper. No sooner has your hand brushed his shoulder than he jerks awake, flinching away, one hand held out to forestall you. There’s some mix of disgust and resignation on his face. You think of how many times he must have been woken from sleep by the Old One, how little his refusal would have mattered, and take a careful step back.

The fight drains out of him in a rush. He slumps back against the table, averting his eyes from yours. “I thought you were him.”

You shake your head. “I did not mean to unsettle you, just to move you somewhere more comfortable.”

“To move me. You intend to carry me?”

“That was the plan,” you admit. Your face inexplicably heats up, making you wish for your veil. “It’s not far. You can walk if you’d like.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “Carry me if you wish.”

If he’d like, if you wish. You do wish. The degree to which you wish strikes you as somewhat unseemly, some obscure outgrowth of the hunger that stalks the edges of your consciousness. You gather Shigaraki into your arms, and unlike the last time you tried this, he cooperates fully, his arms winding about your neck and his body curled in against your chest. Shigaraki has every reason to fear vampires, but he trusted you to save him, even knowing that it would leave him vulnerable. He has every reason to flinch from a vampire’s touch, but he holds onto you.

You label every unfamiliar feeling as vampiric in origin, simply because it’s the safest thing to do, but the feeling that chases at the heels of your pity and sorrow for him would be unmistakable even if you didn’t. When you think of Shigaraki in the Old One’s clutches, the rage that sweeps through you comes from a single source, a thought you’ve never had about anything, let alone a human. Something visceral, unassailable by virtue or reason: He’s mine.

That is not a thought you should be having. You set Shigaraki down on your bed perhaps a little too brusquely, then try to make up for it by drawing the blankets carefully over him. Even that gesture is tainted by possessiveness, heavy with hunger. You draw back to a safe distance at speed.

Shigaraki watches you go. “If you meant to drink my blood, you would have done it already,” he says. “I’m not frightened of you.”

He should be. Right now you are. “I must take my leave of you. There is much to do to prepare for nightfall.”

That brings a flash of fear to Shigaraki’s pale face. “It doesn’t matter what you do,” he says. “You cannot keep him out.”

“This place was built to withstand him,” you say. You leave out that it was built to withstand him at the height of his powers, and that it was intended to be guarded by a dozen Professors every night. With the Old One’s decaying body and only you to stand watch, it’s a much more even fight. “I make the same preparations every night. And tonight we have an advantage.”

“What advantage?”

“As they sleep in daylight, vampires are truly dead to the world,” you say. “The Old One won’t know you’ve shaken off his control until he wakes up.”

It’s an advantage that will last only for the night, but that should give you time to plan something better. It occurs to you on your way out the door that Shigaraki will need to eat, and the bone broth you’ve been simmering since this morning will be ready by the time you return. You gather the supplies you take whenever you walk the perimeter and set off. Seventy-three minutes until nightfall. Courtesy of your vampiric nature, you always know how much daylight remains.

Your defenses are solid, as they should be. You check them every night, as you were taught to do by the last lighthouse keeper before he and the archive he protected were both destroyed. The vampire who did that wasn’t the Old One, and he was underestimated as a result — and after he destroyed the archive, he escaped. Mirai taught you much in life, but his death taught you an even more valuable lesson: When it comes to vampires, you must never assume you hold the upper hand. When it comes to vampires, you are always about to die.

So you guard against both, the unnamed vampire who destroyed the old archive and thrust you into this role before your time and the Old One your order has hunted through generations. The wolf-dogs trail at your heels as you scatter concentric rings of salt, as you string nets of silver lace between the trees, attaching a few silver bells to each one. If a vampire should somehow manage to encounter the nets without howling in agony, the ringing of the bells will warn you, too.

You plant an extra row of stakes around the perimeter of your fence, ensuring they’ll stick out at an angle. Sometimes it seems you spend all day making stakes, creating spool after spool of lace, but this is why. You could fortify your home ten times over and still have supplies to spare.

The wolf-dogs follow you through the gate, and you shut it behind them, draping it in heavy silver chains that you polish carefully each morning. You still have a few moments before nightfall, and it’s going to be a very cold night. You bring in more firewood than usual, confident that a human who’s been habitually drained of blood will feel the cold worse than you do, then step back inside, ushering the newest additions to the pack of wolf-dogs in after you.

You can’t rescue all the pups from Father Torino’s edict that they be drowned, but you save as many as you can, and the litter of five pups that was born out of season was the largest single rescue you’ve attempted to date. Their eyes were barely open when you recovered them, but now they’re approaching four months old, and they’re rambunctious to the extreme. You’d keep them outside if you could, but their coats are too downy yet to keep out the wind and rain, and you’d rather deal with them inside each night than let them freeze. Besides, they’re an excellent distraction from your other guest.

Or a distraction for him. While you’ve been wiping the last pup’s paws clean, the others have discovered Shigaraki, and before you can stop him, he’s patted the bed and invited all five up to join him. Naturally, they oblige, and you can do nothing but stare in exasperation.

Shigaraki catches you looking. “What? It was their idea.”

“I saw you. Don’t lie.” You can’t begrudge him, though; although the wolf-dog pups are crawling all over him, for the first time since you met him, he looks something approaching happy. “They’ll never leave you be. Not now that they know you’re a soft touch.”

Shigaraki laughs quietly at that. His voice is all but ruined from screaming, but he laughs, and you turn away in a hurry. If you get the pups their supper, they’ll abandon him, and the sight of him cuddling with them won’t produce any more awful feelings inside you. Shigaraki speaks again as you’re filling the pups’ trough. “As if you aren’t a soft touch of your own. For the rigidity of the priest’s convictions and the presence of so many wolves in the mountains, surprisingly few wolf-dogs are drowned in the village.”

“What are you implying?”

“That the village brats know to leave their half-breed pups unattended,” Shigaraki says. “It seems they have a great deal of faith in you.”

You had wondered why the rescues were so much easier of late. “That odd one most of all,” Shigaraki continues. “He must, to turn to you for help in the face of a vampire.”

You aren’t surprised at all that it was Midoriya Izuku who sought you out. After all, it’s in his blood. “Then again,” Shigaraki says, and you look up in time to see the pups abandon him and charge for their meal, “you are not unlike a vampire yourself.”

He doesn’t ask a question, but you hear one, and you choose to answer, where you would have obfuscated before. “Half-vampire would be the most accurate term. Conceived by human parents, born to a mother who was either bitten or turned.”

“I read of your kind. In Sensei’s library, before he locked it away.” Shigaraki’s eyes are intent on yours. “I would have guessed for myself if my mental faculties were not so thoroughly decayed.”

“You spent quite some time buried alive. Anyone’s faculties would be corroded,” you say. “What did the Old One’s books say about my kind?”

“They concurred with the priest. You are unclean,” Shigaraki says, and you snort. “Those who create a half-vampire are obligated to destroy it, or else their own existences are forfeit. Vampires keep precious few laws, but regarding that, they are inflexible.”

“Oh,” you say. “So that’s where the Elders went.”

“What?”

“The Old One used to be one of a cadre of master vampires, but some sixty years ago, all but the Old One vanished.” You called yourself the Old One’s fatal mistake, but it seems you’ve been fatal for others, not for him. “Do you think he would take a death sentence lying down?”

Shigaraki laughs hollowly. “He defeated his own kind, equals in power. You have no chance against him.”

“Then it’s good that I don’t intend to fight him,” you say. “Our task is simply to survive the night.”

Night will fall within seconds. You leave your conversation with Shigaraki behind and shut the windows, lining each windowsill with rough crystals of salt. With the loss of the sun, you feel your newfound impurity more acutely, and it did not need the assistance. Your instinct is to descend into the archive and hide until morning, but you must be here to look after your guest. Whose blood you’ve tasted. Whose name you still don’t know. At this point it would be awkward to ask.

You bring him a cup of water and some bone broth, then retreat with your own meal to the bench nearest the window. Shigaraki’s voice follows you. “Do you usually keep such distance from humans?”

It’s not because he’s human. It’s because he’s himself, and you’re drawn to him in a way you don’t understand. You don’t think you’d take his blood, no matter how close to him you got, but you have no idea what you would do instead. The thought crosses your mind that your human side might know the answer, but your human side is quiet. It always has been, because it was never your human side that the Academia wanted you for.

“I am comfortable with humans at any distance,” you say. “This is for your comfort more than mine.”

“I told you already. I’m not frightened of you,” Shigaraki says. “I know evil. It does not look like you.”

Not on the outside, no — but there’s something monstrous within you, something you bury deep. “Do you think evil comes from within, or from beyond?”

“Does it matter?” Shigaraki is drinking more than eating, but at least he’s consuming some of both. “The result is the same, either way.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Within, I think. Sensei chose to become what he is. You didn’t.”

“I choose which side of my nature to obey,” you say. You think it’s important to tell Shigaraki, to warn him that you are not what you appear to be. “I never tasted human blood until yours.”

“I never asked a vampire to touch me before you,” Shigaraki says, and your face heats up. “Did you desire my blood?”

You shake your head, and to your surprise, Shigaraki presses the point. “Why not?”

“I don’t drink blood.”

“I asked if you desired it,” Shigaraki says. “There is a difference. Answer me.”

Some part of you bridles at being ordered around in your own home — the human part of you, you think. Your vampiric nature wishes to offer more information than necessary, and in your answer, you fail to tamp it down. “There are things I desire more.”

Shigaraki blinks. For your part, you avoid eye contact, staring down into your bowl of broth. It’s a poor meal. You should have made bread to go with it, but you were busy. Busy making mistake after mistake, endangering what scraps of the Academia still remain, opening yourself up to the baser instincts you’ve suppressed all your life. Your predecessors would be ashamed of you, your most recent predecessor most of all. Mirai would not have heeded Spinner’s call. He would have let Shigaraki die, and quite possibly saved the world in the bargain.

“I’m cold,” Shigaraki says into the silence. You set your empty bowl aside and return to build up the fire. The pups are mostly asleep, but at least one is still interested in Shigaraki, and when you take his own empty bowl away, you replace it with the pup he was holding before. “This is your bed. Where do you intend to sleep?”

“This night, I don’t,” you say. “I rarely sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Vampires rest during daylight, humans at night. There’s no time of day that feels natural to sleep.” When you were young, you slept days. Once the Academia found you, you slept not at all. “If you were concerned about putting me out, don’t be. You’re a guest, and you must rest if you want to be well for your friends’ visit tomorrow.”

Shigaraki studies you. The pup is already fast asleep and snoring in his arms. “What happens then?” he asks. You give him a strange look. “If I leave, Sensei will follow me, and all your work will be undone.”

“I will give you and your friends what you need to mount an effective defense,” you say. “I don’t plan to throw you out on your ear.”

You don’t want to throw him out. You want to keep him here. “Do you think we can find a more secure place to stay?” Shigaraki asks. “By tomorrow night?”

No. If you send Shigaraki away, he and his friends will die. “I must protect the archive,” you say. “If the Old One attacks at his full strength, all will be lost.”

“If he reclaims me, all will be lost.” An involuntary shudder travels through Shigaraki, and a corresponding chill drips down your spine. “It is in your interest to slay him, yes? When will you have a chance like this again?”

“You know little of slaying vampires,” you say sharply. “Say what you mean.”

Shigaraki holds your gaze for a moment, then looks away. “I feel safe here,” he says, and your innards twist so painfully that it takes a small miracle to avoid doubling over. “My friends and I will be safer with you.”

The human side of you answers him without hesitating. “Then stay.”

You go about your nightly work, struggling to maintain some veneer of reality over your increasingly tainted thoughts. Shigaraki is drawn to the safety you provide, not to you specifically. He would respond the same to any lighthouse keeper, if any of them were fool enough to take him in. You’re nothing special, except that you’re here. You could be anyone. There’s no reason for Shigaraki to feel the same magnetic pull towards you as you do to him.

He must be exhausted. You keep waiting for him to fall asleep, but every time you glance up from your work, you find him watching you, eyes half-lidded, expression relaxed. It makes you self-conscious. “What?”

“Sensei’s fatal mistake,” he says. “What did you mean?”

“It refers to an old text, written when vampires first arose to plague humanity,” you say. “The exact phrasing –”

It takes you a moment. “In their lust for death they sow the seeds of their own undoing.” That was it. You remember wishing for something more definitive. “Coupled with the avoidance of creating half-vampires, it was determined that half-vampires were the key to defeating the Old Ones.”

You remember Nana Shimura holding your face in her hands, smiling down at you brighter than the sun. You will be his downfall, she said. You will be our light. “It’s only a legend.”

“If it were only a legend, creating a half-vampire would not be punishable by death,” Shigaraki says. All the pups are napping with him now. They’re hard to look at together. You don’t like what seeing them makes you feel. “Who taught you this?”

“I had many teachers,” you say. “Professor Shimura was the first.”

Shigaraki’s eyes widen. “Shimura?”

Before you can say anything, before he can elaborate, a howl rises up from somewhere in the woods. It’s distant. You can tell by the way it echoes that the wolf is at the edge of the woods, but you know it won’t stay there. Wolves don’t set foot in these woods, warned back by the presence of the wolf-dogs and the scent of the direwolves. If one is this close, it’s being compelled to approach — and if it’s the Old One’s doing, it won’t be alone.

There’s a second howl, and a third. You hear a sharp intake of breath and glance away from the shuttered window towards Shigaraki, who’s gone pale. “Your defenses won’t work on them,” he says. “They’ll tell him how to find me.”

They will, if even one makes it within view of your home, and you won’t leave it to the wolf-dogs to face a threat you’re responsible for bringing down upon them. You decide on a course of action instantly, and scoop Shigaraki up from the bed, blankets, wolf-dogs and all. He puts up a desultory protest, but he’s shaking in your grip. You press the trick stone in the floor, impatience and frustration humming inside you, and you and Shigaraki are halfway down the hidden stairs before the doorway’s even opened completely.

It’s cold down here. So cold. You don’t want to leave Shigaraki here, but you brought the pups, too, and they’ll keep him warm. Your eyes adjust to the darkness quickly and easily, so easily that you almost forget that Shigaraki will need light to see. As you light the lanterns, the chamber below your cottage comes into view, and Shigaraki stares. “What is this place?”

“The archive,” you say. In the old archive, there were many comfortable places to rest and read, but in this one, hastily constructed in the aftermath of old archive’s destruction, has only uncomfortable stools and cold stone. “Once I leave and seal it, it won’t open until morning or my return. You’ll be safe here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To kill the wolves.”

Shigaraki’s eyes widen. “You can’t,” he says, as you wrap the blankets more securely around him. “You’re only —”

“Human?” You finish the sentence for him. “Only half. Stay here and rest. I’ll be back.”

“Wait,” Shigaraki says, and you pause in the act of pulling away. He seizes your hand anyway. His fingers are cold. “Come back. Say you will.”

“I’ll come back,” you promise. On an impulse you regret the moment you follow it, you raise his hand to your mouth and press your lips against his frozen fingers.

You might regret the impulse, but it soothes the need, the hunger, that’s been tormenting you since you closed Shigaraki’s wounds. Shigaraki startles, but doesn’t retrieve his hand. When you pull away at last, he’s reluctant to let go.

You seal the archive behind you, then seal the cottage doors the same way. Re-entering will be painful for you, with so much salt and garlic and rose in your path, but it matters not so long as it protects Shigaraki. What happens to you matters little, so long as you protect him. You take off your shoes to lighten your step, arm yourself with a silver knife and a quiver of stakes, and set off through the woods at a speed only the direwolves could match.

Your human side is incomprehensible to you, but your vampiric side is all too familiar, and as you run, you turn it loose for the first time in decades. You allow your senses of smell and hearing to sharpen, allow your eyes to adjust to the night, search out the spark of violence that always dwells within you and work to fan the flames. The possessiveness, too, works in your favor. These are your woods. The wolf-dogs following in your wake are yours to protect, and the human is yours, too. Whatever seeks to harm them will find you waiting, and even as your senses identify half a dozen wolves prowling through the woods, your resolve doesn’t weaken. Half a dozen. If the Old One wanted to see his host reclaimed and his mistake unmade, he should have sent an army.

The first wolf appears before you, hackles raised but facing the other way. You leave the knife sheathed, the stakes undisturbed in their quiver, and you attack with bared teeth and empty hands.

<- part ii

tagging: @stardustdreamersisi @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @cryptidfuckerofficial @f3r4lfr0gg3r @minniessskii @lvtuss @issaortiz @evilcookie5 @lacrimae-lotos @xeveryxstarfallx @aslutforfictionalmen

let me know if you'd like to be removed from the taglist! this one is all-purpose, but I can make one for specific fics if need be

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x you #reader insert #x reader #man door hand hook car door #nosferatu AU

63 notes · View notes

freyito · 1 year ago

Text

ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʀ ᴡᴏʟꜰ

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✩ inspo: me and mr wolf by the real tuesday weld

★ summary: The Family is hosting a ball as more promotion for the Charmony Festival. At this ball, a certain Bloodhound Family member takes interest in you...

✧ a/n: pspsps did you know requests are open <3? (also totally not setting up a part 2 not at allll (guy who set up the most obvious intro to part 2))

✦ like my work? feel free to send a request !

🗒 cw: gn reader, anxious reader, mild penacony spoilers, just fluff-ish, he's a little eerie, proofread

✎ wc: 2.5k

The scene before you is incredibly lavish, light, and dreamy. It speaks of The Family’s power and bank, how quickly they are able to set up such a beautiful sight within the Dreamscape. It’s like a fantasy, something you’d only see in, well, dreams. Patrons from all sorts of colorful backgrounds flood the floor, some of them you believe you recognize. The chatter around you drowns out what would be ethereal music, guests piling in from two wide double doors. You look to your right, and you see Sunday, the head of the Oak Family all the way at the end of the venue, hands behind his back and observing the revelry. On the other side of the venue, you see Oti Alfalfa– which is very questionable in its own right. Perhaps the Alfalfa family paid for the venue, or… something. You couldn’t really make sense of it. With how crowded it was, you didn’t want to make sense of it.

With your head down, you make your way through the crowd, doing your best to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. After all, this was the first time you’ve seen anyone dressed up so fancy. And, some passing glances at you tell you that, for once, these people care about what they’re wearing in the Dreamscape. You avoid their gazes, making a beeline to the drinks. Or so you hope– this is a formal ball, after all. Would they really have a drink table like it’s some highschool prom? You get your answer when you reach the end of the hall, and there’s no table in sight. A pity, really. However, you do spot waiters walking around with platters of SoulGlad. It isn’t the best choice, but it’ll wet your throat.

Grabbing one of the delicate glasses after flagging a waiter down, you hunker down in a less populated corner. You watch as the tempo takes hold, dancers falling into line. You grow increasingly conscious that you are here alone, no partner to dance with. Not like you wanted to, right? Throwing yourself into a ball with no partner, not even a friend, it feels… embarrassing. And suddenly, you’re aware of why people's eyes have been on you. You lower your head once more, staring down into the glass of SoulGlad, furrowing your brows. You swirl the glass, watching as it fizzes and dies down, as the music around you dies down. What a shame, really… You had no idea what you were doing here, perhaps you just wanted to join in on the revelry? Enjoying yourself seems like a distant reality, despite that being the essence of the Dreamscape.

Reluctantly, you take a swig of the drink, letting it cool your throat. With a huff, you look back into the near empty glass, practically forgetting to even taste the drink. Whether you’re spurred on by self-hatred or a genuine interest, you make your way to the floor. Catching another waiter as you do so, you hand them to empty glass. It feels weird, being in such a posh environment. Yet, before you can reach the floor, a hand grabs your wrist. It sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly your new-found confidence is shot. You turn around to reprimand whoever grabbed you, but you’re met with a Bloodhound Guard.

He looks at you with a stoic face, raising his eyebrow slightly when you shoot him a judgmental look. Just because he’s part of the Bloodhound Family doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to grab you so suddenly. And it seems he’s caught onto that, because he lets go of your arm.

“Ahem, sorry about that,” He starts, his tone cool and even, his voice slightly gravelly and deep. Yet, it doesn’t sound like he’s actually sorry, there is no apology in his tone. “You’re, uh, you’re kinda makin’ a warpath, here.”

You raise your eyebrow, and you have no idea how to respond. The words get stuck in your throat, and all you can do is look around. You’re on the edge of the floor, and the dancing hasn’t ceased. Everyone’s eyes are on each other, thank the Aeons.

At your baffled look, he relaxes and chuckles softly. “Sorry, just had to make sure you weren’t… going to cause trouble.”

A light blush dusts your cheeks, and you find yourself feeling embarrassed again. Only then do you take in the man’s disheveled appearance. Some stubble, hair left undone for such a fancy event, and a suit that was put together all too quickly, wrinkled and perhaps a little stained. His hazel eyes bore into yours, as if searching you for something, though he’s already established that you are no threat. Something about him, however, feels familiar. You swear, his name is on the tip of your tongue, you’ve seen this man… somewhere before.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to ruin your night…” He trails off, eyes tearing away to look you up and down. When his eyes meet yours once more, he extends a calloused hand towards you. His gaze softens and he smiles with a huff. “Care for a dance?”

“Ah…” Is the only thing you manage to choke out. You’re taken aback by the sudden invitation, slightly unnerved. It’s not that he himself is nerve wracking, but it’s the way he’s gone from gruff to gentlemanly. “Sure.”

Your response is dry, but you put your hand in his. Wordlessly, he leads you into the center of the floor, falling in step with all the dance partners around you. Despite his messy appearance, he dances elegantly. He matches the flow of the room easily, swaying, each step smooth. Now that you’re up close and personal, you take in the faint smell of tobacco and some generic cologne, and an undertone of something metallic. You do your best to forget about it, allowing yourself to get whisked away by the melody surrounding you two.

“Gallagher, by the way.” The man starts once more, answering the question, or lack thereof, you had asked yourself.

“What brings a Bloodhound to a, uh, ball?” You ask, attempting to strike up conversation. It only hits you now that you are dancing with a stranger, so closely and almost… intimately. Another feeling of unease crawls down your spine, and you can’t understand why.

Gallagher chuckles at your question, as if it’s preposterous to think that the Bloodhound Family do more than just act tough. “We’re allowed a little fun every once in a while,” He shrugs, pulling you ever so slightly closer. “It’s not a crime, right?”

The proximity makes you blush, acutely aware of just how rough and calloused his hands feel, your palms start to get sweaty. You do your best to ignore it, after all, this is a man you just met. “No, no, not at all…” You try to act and sound confident, ignoring the pit in your stomach. “Just… I didn’t expect it, that's all.”

Silence stretches between you two as you spin around the floor, like cogs in a machine. It only strikes you now how… mundane this event truly is. Sure, it is grand and lights up the night, but is there really a purpose? The unease and anxiety settles in your bones, and your pace falters, suddenly no longer able to follow Gallagher’s steps. He notices this, and slows down. But when you meet his eyes, his gaze isn’t concerned. He can see you piecing things together, and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Got something on your mind?” His voice lowers, barely above the music that surrounds you two. It carries the tone of a challenge, but you don’t want to respond. Your throat is dry once more, and you keep your gaze away from him. He squeezes your hands and traps you within the waltz, every step caging you in.

“Just… nervous, sorry,” You deflect, trying to ignore the creeping unease that seeps into your veins. Perhaps this is all in your head, and you’re just letting the embarrassment, the anxiety, and the nerves get to your head. It’s not a far-off assumption, since you’ve stepped foot in the hall you’ve wanted nothing more than to run out. To wake up from the dream. “My bad.”

Gallagher lets up, loosening his grip on your hand and puts a little space between you two as you fall back into pace with the other dancers. His expression eases into something softer, something that doesn’t necessarily fit a man of his stature.

“You’re more than welcome to take a break,” He doesn’t apologize, brushing off the scene from the moment before. Yet, despite this invitation, he continues to dance, his own pace does not waver. “I won’t mind.”

You feel nauseous, yes, but when was the last time you’ve danced? When was the last time you’ve felt this elegant? You swallow your anxiety and shake your head, allowing yourself to really enjoy this waltz. “It’s okay.”

Gallagher responds with a ‘hm’ and a nod, no words spoken. Finally, you watch your steps. He’s already set himself as the lead, and you had no qualms being the follow. You step backward. Pause. Then you step to the side. Pause. Then you bring your feet together. You continue this pattern, finally hearing the music above the tapping around you. It’s almost comforting in a way, being able to follow something that feels… luxurious. And Gallagher seems to be enjoying himself, as well. He isn’t pulling you closer, his hands hold you loosely, as if he’s suddenly afraid of scaring you. As if he hadn’t.

Slowly, you relax. The beat lulls you into a sense of calm, spinning around the floor as if it came naturally. You are no longer hyper aware of everyone else, feeling as if it’s just you and Gallagher. His heady scent feels the air between you two, the metallic tang you smelled earlier becoming a lot more potent. You do your best to ignore it, the music picking up intensity. He drops your right arm, raising his left hand up, and spinning you. It’s a light and airy feeling, something akin to a warm spring day. All worries wash away so easily under such a simple act.

A man you’ve barely known, that you’re sure you’ve seen a handful of times in Golden Hour and Blue Hour, treating you so delicately despite his gruff exterior. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion that follows such a nerve wracking experience, you can’t tell. For now, it doesn’t matter. You are enjoying yourself, dancing with a Bloodhound or not.

Just as the waltz feels like it’s reaching an end, Gallagher dips you down, his hand placed firmly against the small of your back. His eyes meet yours once more, a sly grin spreading across his face, giving you a proper view of his sharp canine teeth. It isn’t as strange as before, something you feel like you’ve grown used to in just a mere four minutes. But, in that moment, you realize the rough skin of his knuckles isn’t just from his hard line of work, but rather bruised skin. You run your thumb over his knuckles, and he only furrows his eyebrows.

At this, he brings you back up, and you two resume the steady waltz. Now, you want to ask him about it. You steal another glance at his hand, trying to see if you were right, but the dim lights within the ballroom black you from doing so. You can’t get hurt in the Dreamscape, you’re sure of it. So, it must’ve been somewhere in reality…

“Some hooligan was stirring up trouble, wouldn’t leave their room. Had to drag them out.” As if he read your mind, he responds quickly. It’s quite impressive with how in-tune he is with you and your mind.

“Ah,” You nod, trying to sound understanding. It checks out, that must’ve been why his suit was a little… sloppy. “Sounds like it sucked.”

“The Charmony Festival brings out all sorts of undesirables…” Gallagher affirms.

The conversation is dry, but you still feel a weird pull towards him. You simply cannot figure out what else to talk about, what to ask. Anything you fish out in your mind sounds like you’re on a date with him. Sure, the current situation feels like it isn’t far off from that conclusion, but he asked you for a dance, not a date.

And, unfortunately, the ball was coming to an end. It’s a shame, really. Time had slipped away from your mind, and you had enjoyed yourself. Even with such an unsure start, with such an enigmatic fellow, it was fun. The music slowly comes to a stop, as does the other dancers. You and Gallagher are left together in a sea of chatter, flats and shoes clacking as patrons walk off the floor, an awkward air falling over you two like a blanket.

You look at Gallagher, and he has a somber look on his face, watching everyone filter off the dance floor. He himself had a great time, too. Something you assumed may be rare for Bloodhounds. But, he snaps out of it quickly, returning your gaze with a near sheepish smile.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “Don’t remember the last time I’ve danced like that.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever danced.” You shake your head, sighing softly.

“Well, you were a perfect dance partner, if that counts for somethin’.” Gallagher starts to walk, following the stream of people.

You follow suit, blushing a little at the compliment. You try to find an organic flow for the conversation, but all you can stutter out is a ‘thanks’ and a small nod as if to affirm your own confidence. You want so badly to follow up with a question about him, to see if you can get a crack from his cool demeanor, but ultimately, you fall short when you two finally step out of the venue. With a brisk exhale, you feel lighter. You hadn’t realized how stuffy it felt within the ballroom until now.

“Well, it was fun,” Gallagher sighs, shrugging off his blazer casually. “I’d invite you for another dance, but, that’s not necessarily my thing.”

With your one chance at getting to know more, you trip over your own words and decide, why not? Why not shoot your shot, ask him out?

“I mean… uh, we could, get dinner, or something?” You sound so unsure, so flustered, blushing a little at your own question.

“Why not?” Gallagher shrugs, an easy smile plastered to his face. “Don’t think I ever got your name, either.”

You hastily tell him your name, bowing your head like you’re grateful to him for this opportunity. You’re more grateful to yourself, being able to ask a question like that. You two quickly exchange phone numbers, and suddenly it feels like there's a weight lifted off your shoulders.

He gives you a thoughtful look, scratching at his stubble. “How about a drink?”

#⁺◟freyito #gallagher x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gallagher x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

207 notes · View notes

dollwrites · 1 year ago

Note

:0 since ur doing the griffith event would u consider writing a pt 2 to the king griffith drabble 🥺🥺🥺

he’s yummmy 👉🏻👈🏻

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!queen!reader, king!griffith, oral sex ( m! ), griffith is possessive and kind of manipulative, suggested conditioning so it’s semi dubcon?, improper use of praise, exploitation of reader’s praise kink, griffith is canon-typical misogynistic, very very subtle pet play too. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

*same queen reader as this little blurb

“Don’t you know that you were created for me?”

“You exist to stand behind me.”

“You were born to be my queen.”

“My happiness is your happiness.”

Griffith’s voice echoes in your mind; constantly reminding you that you are exactly where you’re meant to be. you happily serve your noble husband— a dutiful and obedient wife that does only what he allows you to, and you’re content with that, because you receive his affection and approval as reward.

to put it frankly: you idolize Griffith.

and he knows it.

he has trained you well; conditioned you to depend on his praises as the flowers in the royal garden depend on spring showers. it makes you needy. easy to control. perfect to dominate.

with a simple sigh— a breathy exhale, Griffith can have you on a metaphorical leash. “Fervent, little wife you are.” he murmurs, “so eager to please her husband. So devoted to his pleasure. Can you think of nothing else but seeing ecstasy etched in my countenance?” the way his voice lilts in inquiry is almost a taunt, as if to sneer victory of the conquest over your simple, innocent mind.

with your eyes trained on his face, you nod, but the action is subtle and in time with the rhythm of your head already bobbing. your mouth watered, lips stretched around the girth of his cock, tongue pinned to the floor of your cavern as you sucked on the flared, swollen tip.

as royalty, you should’ve been ashamed to find yourself upon your knees between your husband’s legs, drool bubbling from the sides of your mouth as his cock filled it, but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in making Griffith sigh like that. you couldn’t be embarrassed to feel just how hard he was, twitching in your mouth, not when this was an avenue to his good graces. if anything, the more that Griffith put you into positions meant to humiliate you, the more you craved his adoration. your tongue eagerly worms itself free, and glides across the sensitive slit of his tip, hungrily gathering beads of precum that were dribbling out so you can taste his essence. though warm and salty, the flavor to you was more delicious than any wine— more indulgent than any sweet. your eyelids flutter, but you force them to remain open so you can keep your eyes locked on his face, and on his icy gaze that stared back so intensely.

your teasing bore fruit, because a ghost of a smile danced across his plump, parted lips, before he elicited a soft moan, one that enveloped your entire body in heat, and liquified as pure desire in your core. “You are making me feel so good, just as you’re meant to.” Griffith assures you, using one hand to pet the top of your head. the action, while belittling, set your stomach tying itself in knots and your arousal pooling between the thighs that you clench tight together to keep from creating a puddle on the hardwood floor. all you want— all you will ever want is to please Griffith. whether that be with your loyalty, your body, or your status as a noblewoman, you want him to love and appreciate you. so, knowing that you are pleasuring him gives you a spur of inspiration. you mewl in response to his praise, batting your eyelashes as you take him deeper into your mouth, wanting to garner even more affirmations of a job well done; one of your hands creep up the inside of his thigh, holding his heavy balls in your warm palm. you begin to knead them with svelte, slow massaging.

“You are such a submissive creature.” Griffith chuckles, though a rosé hue begins to raise in the apples of his cheeks, and his bare chest rises and falls harder than before. another few pats on the top of your head before his fingers tangle themselves in your tresses. “You crave your King’s pleasure more than your own, and you’re so loyal that you sit at his feet like an hopeful pup, yearning for her master to give her a special reward. Even at the expense of your own humility.” his breath catches as your ministrations work on him, more moans making their way to the tip of his tongue as he rubs his thumb against the back of your head for a moment, before applying enough pressure to push your head further down, feeding you a few more inches of his throbbing, thick cock. “That is what makes you such a lovely, little pet. A lovely, little wife.”

#AHH I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #king griffith is like one of my fave things to write #griffith x you #griffith smut #griffith imagine #Griffith #berserk #berserk x you #berserk imagine #berserk x reader #berserk smut #griffith berserk

280 notes · View notes

lilithschosen · 4 months ago

Note

May I interest you in a “3) fully clothed x stark naked” prompt in these trying times?

(Though I do hope your day is going well and not trying)

the days since you've sent this, dear anon, have been very good and not trying! here is the smut you've ordered 😌

"Babe we gotta get going!" Agatha shouts as she passes the bathroom door. "We're gonna be late for the lunch thing with Lilia, you know she hates when we're late."

Rio pretends she doesn't hear Agatha under the stream of water from the shower head. She holds her breath as she lets it wash over her, the hot water relaxing her. She rubs her hand over her body, making sure every bubble from the bar of soap is washed from her before she shuts the water off and slides the glass door open.

Agatha opens the bathroom door, ready to chastise Rio for taking so long, but the words die in her throat as she shamelessly drinks in her naked, wet girlfriend.

"Hello yourself, sailor," Rio teases, bending to the side to wring her hair out into the shower. "What was it you were yelling? Couldn't hear you."

Agatha just swallows, throat insatiably dry, and steps towards Rio. Rio laughs under her breath, knowing just where Agatha's eyes were glued to and stands up.

"Something about Lilia?" she asks, trying to subtly remind Agatha to stop her. Agatha keeps moving forward until her fingers can swipe at the leftover water droplets on her chest. "Lunch?"

Rio's hands wrap into Agatha's covered wrists. She's fully dressed and ready for the day, while Rio is definitely not. Rio's fingers dip into the arm cuff of Agatha's grey sweater, rubbing at the skin underneath.

She glances down at the smartwatch on her arm and curses quietly. "We're already late."

Rio frowns, "Sorry. Should you call Lilia and tell her?"

Agatha doesn't respond, instead taking Rio's lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Her mouth opens, tongue sliding out to enter Rio's as she moans at the taste of her. She grabs her by the back of her arms, guiding her toward the counter and pins her against it without breaking the kiss.

Rio hisses at the feel of granite against her bare back, breaking the kiss. "Cold."

Agatha lifts her up, having her sit down on it and parts her thighs while she drops to her knees in front of her. Rio tosses her legs over Agatha's shoulders, scooting to the edge of the counter top.

"Might as well be ridiculously late."

Agatha flattens her tongue against Rio's cunt, licking bold stripes up to her clit before circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of her tongue. Rio's fingers weave into Agatha's hair, holding her tight against her as she grinds her hips into her mouth.

Agatha moans into her, the clean taste from the shower mixed with Rio's inherent essence spurs her on. She drops her jaw wider, resting her tongue on her bottom lip as she uses it to devour Rio's pussy.

Rio grips Agatha's hair, her whines and cries in pleasure growing louder as Agatha eats her out. "God I'm gonna cum in your mouth, keep going."

As if Agatha was planning to stop. She keeps going, Rio's arousal pools out of her entrance and combines with Agatha's drool on the counter top. She raises a hand, dipping two fingers into her mouth and then slips them into Rio. She curls the fingers up, feeling Rio clench around them.

Rio moans are screams now, chanting and babbling out Agatha's name as she cants her hips. Her head rolls back and eyes clamp shut as she cums. Agatha relaxes her jaw, now just using her tongue to lap at her clit, thrusts slowing before stopping entirely while Rio continues to ride the fingers.

She whines, slumping forward as Agatha stands quickly to catch her. She licks up the water droplets on her shoulder, face still covered in Rio's cum. She presses an open mouthed, sloppy kiss to the corner of Rio's mouth before pulling her fingers out.

Agatha holds her fingers up to Rio's mouth, about to push them in, until she hears the muffled jingle of her phone's ringtone in the bedroom. Rio's eyes open, flicking from Agatha to the fingers in front of her mouth.

Right as Agatha attempts to pull away to answer her phone, Rio wraps her lips around the wet fingers. She hollows her cheeks, slurping them in as her nose rests against Agatha's knuckles.

Agatha can only watch, powerless. Rio's tongue swipes between the fingers, cleaning every drop of her orgasm off of Agatha's hand before she lets them fall out of her mouth with an audible pop.

The ringtone ends and Agatha's watch buzzes against her arm. She looks down seeing the call was from Lilia and she tosses her head back with a groan.

"Oh she's pissed."

Rio feigns innocence, smile creeping across her face. "Sorry, babe."

#asks #butch!agatha #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agathario #lilithschosen #stupid sexy Flanders but instead of Flanders its Rio and Agatha just wants to be on time to something she planned #except she couldn't help herself this time smh my head

24 notes · View notes

kakushino · 1 year ago

Text

Meet cute

Tomioka Giyuu x Mer! GN! Reader

Nothing was more terrifying than having Death on your tail.

Tags: Modern AU, Mer AU (human char x mer reader) Word count: 489

Main Masterlist

AN: First in a series of drabbles/snippets of Mer AU I brainrotted with my friends hehe~ Water painted by Ivan Aivazovsky (1817 - 1900)

Nothing was more terrifying than having Death on your tail.

It was just your luck that a pod of Death happened upon your coral reef, and you had just offered your abode to a kind octopus with fries to her name.

Weaving between the kelp off the side of your reef seemed to have confused them enough to allow you to swim to the shallows. You knew that would hardly stop them, powerful fins and agile bodies giving them the ability to strike right to the tide line – no further, lest they beach themselves-

A high-pitched sound reached your ears, interrupting your current of thought, and your heart fell into your stomach.

You poured all your energy into speed. Time was of the essence, they were getting closer, you could hear them now. You were surrounded. The only way out was out.

With the last of your power, and what the shallow water allowed you, you slid up the sandbank, just barely at the high tide line.

It wouldn’t keep you safe.

Strange echo of waves spurred your panicked crawling up the sand – the surface broke, water crashed – your keening song short, cut off – scorching hot hands grabbed your biceps and pulled.

Your back stung in direct sunlight, dorsal fin flapping to the side uncomfortably, pelvic fins scratched up. The sand hurt against your scales as they dried against the heated ground, much quicker than what was natural, but it was better than being torn apart for sport by Death.

You didn’t even look at what pulled you ashore, just rolled up, up, up the beach away from Death. You caught the sight of it retreating to the waters, and shade covered you as the heated hands dropped your arms.

Now far on land, your gills stuck closed, and you breathed hard through your mouth. The adrenaline made your limbs shake. Mind scrambled, eyes searching the surface for the damned black fins that were sure to appear when a pod of Death was nearby.

Nothing.

The sand near your hands moved.

Your head whipped around to look at what – who – dragged you from your demise.

A beautiful human was at your side, its own breathing slowing down from the mad dash to freedom. Long dark hair - messy, as if seawater caused it to dry like that; ruddy blush high on his cheeks – from the sun? from helping you? Skin so light and bright, covered in salt from your home, sparkly even in the shade.

Its eyes opened and the colour of the sea stared back at you.

You were speechless. Had you seen such a mer back home, you would have stayed.

“What are you?” it spoke at last – or he? His voice was deeper than a female mer, so you would say it was a he. The information helped you none because you didn’t understand a lick of his human song.

Well, you beached yourself. Now what?

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or reblog if you liked it :3

Legend: Death = orca / killer whale (TBA)

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

Honorary mentions: @starrierknight-main @aikugo @arlertdarling @mydarlingdahlia @glitchtricks94 (lmk if you want to be untagged)

THERE IS NO TAGLIST!

#my brain refused to let me rest its one AM and im here writing it #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #giyuu my beloved #giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #giyuu x y/n #giyuu x you #mer reader #mer au #kakushino #giyuu #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny x you #kny x y/n #no beta we die like kyojuro #dividers by benkeibear

91 notes · View notes

krikeymate · 2 months ago

Text

Abandon all hope, ye who enter

Nobody makes it out alive. It takes them home.

❂ ☾

In the After, Shauna gets to shine, in a way that had always been denied to her, ever Jackie’s shadow.

But now it is Shauna in the sky, bright and burning and soaring, while the essence of Jackie – whatever is left of her, whatever had survived her inevitable consumption (and it was, inevitable, for the world loves to sink its teeth into pretty little girls, Shauna had saved her from this, she had, she had, she had saved her. She has to have saved her, otherwise…what had it all been for?) – is confined to the shadows, overseer of all things dark and cold. Orbiting her for once. Forever more, until she can take it no more, until Shauna chooses to burn herself up and cleanse it all.

Who They are Now becomes a twisted mirror of who They were Then.

Always together becomes forever parted; one cracked and broken and destined to yearn for what was never hers, the other shattered into so many pieces she still appears whole, who set herself alight so that she could stay warm.

Except… sometimes those stars aligned, and two shattered children could collide once again, like they were meeting for the first time all over – so small and innocent, with no expectations or heavy hearts or jealous eyes, only love and longing.

It gave them that, allowed them that short time, so that the Sun might wrap her arms around the Moon and whisper apologies. For the Moon to forgive and kiss burning skin. They were always meant to go together, that’s what they had promised one another so many years ago, before the world grew cold and they became forgotten.

But they didn’t, so It gives them this moment. Fleeting as it is. So quick, a blink of an eye. It gives, and It takes.

And the Sun will beg.

Please don’t take her from me. Not again, no more.

And It will answer.

Do not ask for more than is given.

After all, It had given them the greatest gift of all.

They will be together, forever, just as they’d dreamed.

𖣂 𖣂𖣂 𖣂𖣂𖣂

In the centre of the forest sits a tree, surrounded by warmth, that thrives in its embrace. Tai stands an eternal guard, secrets hidden beneath her, where she and her love, both Old and New, does lay.

Van twists through her, beneath her, above her. There is nowhere her warmth does not reach, there is not a part of her – to the highest branch bathing in the light, to the deepest root twisted far below the ground – that she does not covet.

She has become the fire of the earth, as she had been of Tai’s soul. The flame that protects as it burns, the fever that takes and the warm embrace that lays the cold to rest, the poisonous heat that festers in a wound and the flushed touch of a lover. Van paves the way for the New by burning the Old.

Tai is a pillar of safety, for those she allows within her heart. Friends will find comfort, like resting before a hearth. Foes will find a maze shrouded in darkness, from which they shall never escape, consumed for all they are and were.

Together they spread the forest even further, Tai’s branches reaching out out out, spurred on by her lover’s heat. Its influence reaches ever deeper.

Faithful delegates, they continue Its cause.

༗ 𓃦 𓃥 𓃢 𓃥

Natalie Scatorccio was a fighter.

Her whole damned life had been a battle, from birth – 3 days of hard labour for a baby that cried the moment of her first breath (and then never stopped crying, her father would sneer, shame on his tongue and anger in his eyes) – to death, a fierce battle against all It threw at her, but she never gave up. Not even at the end, the last of the living left standing with only a corpse left to guard. She never left her post.

She was a Hunter.

A Predator.

A Survivor.

Not unlike Itself.

But where It worked alone, a King on its throne, Natalie – ever the lone wolf (not by her choosing, an outcast, unwanted, abandoned, thrown away) – needed a pack.

So It gave her one.

Its little warrior.

Natalie Now is not so far from Natalie then – all snarls and teeth and mottled fur. She howls to the skies and laps blood like it’s liquor, skirts around the edges growling at all who get close, but no one is quicker when one of her own is in need.

She will never be alone or unwanted again, forever surrounded by her pack – new and old.

That is Its gift to her.

༄ ༄ ৎఌ୭ ༄ ༄

Its Prophet.

just a girl, only a girl

It helped her see.

held her strings like she was nothing more than a puppet

To open her mind.

she never wanted this, none of it, none of it

And she did.

god forgive her

And she will.

she just wants it to stop

She spoke Its word, bought worship to its name, and for that Charlotte is given the gift of the wind, the air itself. She will be everywhere, and nowhere.

lost, floating, adrift

No part of this realm shall be safe from her gaze or her touch.

who is charlotte matthews?

She will give life, and take it away just as easily.

it wasn’t her crown to wear

She will bleed warmth, or cold, sun or storm or snow, it is hers to choose. No longer will she be a slave to the seasons. Every whisper hers to spread or snuff. She will rule Its lands while It slumbers.

what is a queen but a slave to a king

Lottie drifts, in the After.

Shauna and Jackie are lost to her, so far beyond her reach.

Sometimes she will breathe alongside Van, rub shoulders with Tai. But they have each other, they are not for her to intrude upon, she knows.

The others are there too, in the dirt and the plants, the mushrooms and the mice, but they cannot speak to her. Or perhaps they will not. It is her fault they are there after all.

So she spends her time where she’s wanted, coaxing fingers through Nat’s hair and scratching down her spine. She’ll lead her to prey and relish the joy on her face as she sinks her teeth into Lottie’s gifts. She’ll memorise the way she looks so beautiful with blood streaked across her jaw and bed down with her at night as if she were one of Natelie’s pack, and not simply a whisp of a life long gone.

And sometimes she will rage, when it all becomes too much. She will stand alone and scream, storm fierce around her, and the forest will weep as she does.

And the Trees will bend towards her.

Warmth will curl around her neck.

A lone Wolf will lie beside her.

And after, the Sun will shine a little brighter.

#/mp #my writing tag #Yellowjackets #Natalie Scatorccio #Lottie Matthews #Van Palmer #Taissa Turner #Jackie Taylor #Shauna Shipman

10 notes · View notes

nopeferatu · 3 months ago

Note

If Jack had somehow survived the attack, do you think anything would've changed? I've seen fics and stuff where that is the idea behind it, and I like the idea, but it also begs the question of how Ennis would react bc part of me feels like it would just make his fear worse

Ahh this question is so hard for me to answer. I feel like I've constantly flipped back and forth with it these past 3 years and I still haven't come to a certain conclusion.

Is the scenario you're painting one where the "accident" still happens, but Jack survives in the end?

If so, I really do like the idea that Ennis would be spurred to some sort of action if faced with the threat of losing Jack forever. Like... he realizes his mistake, sees that time with your loved ones is finite, and is willing to grow because he is forced to confront the reality that he is in love with Jack, and he can't bear what life could be like without him. It's so good. It's a premise so good I actually hand-bound the fic that I think does this premise the best. Because I like the idea that much.

However. One thing that is very compelling to me about this story of sad gay cowboys, as a self-procclaimed connoisseur of tragedy, is that the cowboys are gay and sad.

While I don't think it impossible that Ennis could change his mind and find it in his heart to change his ways, I also agree with you that Ennis learning about Jack's "accident" would only serve to prove his fears have been correct all these years, no matter the truth of the situation.

I've said this before in various other posts, but on the issue of whether Jack's death was the result of a hate crime or a freak tire-changing accident, my stance is that it doesn't matter what the reality is because the result is the same: Ennis' two very strong worldviews get reinforced. What is the lesson that has haunted Ennis ever since his father took him to see the brutalized corpse of a suspected queer man? Being queer gets you killed. What is Ennis' motto about life? If you can't fix it, you've got to stand it. Ennis believes with his whole heart that Jack, who was queer and who wanted so desperately to live life as a queer man with him, was murdered, and he can't do anything about it because Jack is gone.

The very final line of the Brokeback Mountain short story reads, "There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it." When you read it, it almost makes it seem as though Ennis starts ruminating, but he doesn't let himself get too far down those lines of thought. He's just so practical-minded and grounded in reality that he can't even let himself daydream about alternative possibilities or realities. About Jack's death, yes, but also about how things could have gone if he had just said yes when Jack asked to ranch up with him all those years ago. In fact, it takes as grave an event like Jack's death to even get him to the point of SOME consideration of alternative possibilities, because when the "If you can't fix it, you've got to stand it" line first pops up in the story, he's unwilling to even humor Jack's ideas of building a life together. It's just flat-out rejection.

In contrast to Jack's grandiosity and whimsy, Ennis is inured to the hard reality of the society he lives in, the roles he's expected to inhabit, and the consequences that await the men who step out of line. That is the essence of his character. If you can't fix it you've got to stand it. And when you live life with that mentality, I'm not sure that there's much room for things like hope.

So while it is nice to read the fics that have Ennis learn to buck up and face his fears because confronting the misery of a life without Jack outweighed his fears of being killed, I just think that there's more evidence that unfortunately points to the contrary. Oh Ennis, you miserable wretch. 😭

#asks #brokeback mountain #ennis del mar #jack twist #heath ledger #jake gyllenhaal #still brokeback posting

10 notes · View notes

majorasnightmare · 3 months ago

Note

Meant to send these earlier, but I got distracted by my own existential dread. Anyway, how about a 3, 12, and 21 for the Orin questions!

!!!!! I HOPE YOURE FEELING BETTER 🥺

thank you for more dirge asks im love FOREVER 🥺🫶

3: How did Orin go about taking your Durge down? Did she need to trick them? Was Durge blindsided, or did they see her betrayal coming?

Dirge and Orin were both blindsided by her betrayal. It was an impulsive spur of the moment act, incited by Dirge attempted to defuse their current argument by leaving. Orin snatched up a dagger and lunged at him for turning his back to her and plunged it into his skull with murderous intent. Immediately after, she didn't sense the betrayal, hatred, or humiliation she expected for attacking her bloodkin, but a growing cold numbness instead and this incited her further, leading her to forcibly cram a tadpole in the open wound. The childish spite soon gave way to guilt when Dirge didn't die but instead continued to lie there on the ground, bleeding and insensate, spasmodically twitching. The situation refused to resolve itself cleanly or satisfactorily, forcing Orin to drag him out of the Absolute's chambers to the spot Kressa would eventually find him, abandoning him once Orin heard approaching footsteps.

While their relationship had been degrading for some time at that point, and while Orin had fantasized about killing him plenty of times beforehand, she hadn't actually made any concrete schemes to that effect aside from trying to preserve her honor and dignity through a duel between bhaalspawn. Orin was just as shocked by her behavior as Dirge was, and in the coming months Orin was forced to retroactively justify herself, creating a false narrative of planned betrayal to alleviate her own dissonant feelings of regret.

12: What’s something Orin and your Durge always agreed on?

The hideous awfulness of crowds, the throngs of people moving like a flowing cesspool. Both of them never really got comfortable blending in with the common man, and had an unhealthy nihilism towards the state of living. Orin and Dirge shared a view of people that maintained that they were organ sacks ready to be cut open and spilled forth in sacrament. On a lighter note, they both also agreed that the better forms of art were the skilled and thought provoking.

21: How does your Durge feel about the revelations over Sarevok’s abuse of Orin and Helena? Did they know already? Do their opinions change post-amnesia?

Dirge knew once he became head of the Temple's clergy, and began leading sermons and managing the cults affairs. What he didn't figure out himself, he was told as part of his initiation. The difference between him and Orin was that he was the purest essence of Bhaal, carved from Bhaal's flesh for the purpose of enacting his will, and Orin was a halfbreed incestuous spawn born of dalliance between Sarevok and his own daughter, Helena. He never told Orin because he couldn't stand the idea of taking away anymore points of pride for Orin when he had just claimed the position she had vied for all her life. Dirge never considered the "purity" of one's heritage to be anything worth considering, his own only being relevant only because he was severed from Bhaal Himself, and thus never took it into account when taking measure of Orin's skills and abilities.

Sarevok's abuse of Orin was a sign of his own patheticness. That he could no longer rise on his own merits and only had use training younglings and whelp initiates, and thus had to resort to schemes of bloodline and bringing down his daughter, whom in every way proved superior to him, was a sign of his deficiencies, and further proof that Bhaal's judgement in casting him out was justified. That Sarevok felt the need to conceive a sacrificial spawnling at all is proof of his inadequeacy, and the fact that Orin's blessing at the moment of her mother's murder was not enough to elevate her status, even making consideration for a spawn crafted of Bhaal's own gore like Dirge, is to be taken as proof of Sarevok's own insecurity. Orin deserves better than to have a wretched husk for a father, and was another reason why Dirge never told her her heritage. He has a low opinion of Sarevok, but still holds to Sarevok's counsel, owing to his many years of service to Bhaal and direct communication with the god. If Sarevok advises a course of action, if Bhaal sends no omens of disagreement, Dirge acquiesces unless he himself has a strong counterargument. Orin's usefulness is the primary (stated) reason he rejects any attempts at the duel, which Sarevok considers arrogance on Dirge's part, and portrays as a deliberate demeaning of Orin's abilities in combat. Helena and Orin both deserved better than Sarevok, in Dirge's opinion, and Sarevok is all the lesser for perpetuating it.

Post amnesia, the revelation sours his already poor opinion of Sarevok, and without the trappings of Bhaal's doctrine to ensnare him in the hierarchy of seniority and power, Dirge is all the more furious for Sarevok's treatment. Orin deserved so much more than this heaping shitpile she was given, born to be slaughtered, forced to fight for every scrap she was given, all while her father knew she'd never be allowed to keep it. It was cruel, and like so much in the cult, it was pointless. Despite knowing less of Sarevok and Orin thanks to his amnesia, Dirge's feelings end up the same, merely unshackled.

#dirge askgames #trappedinafantasy37 #doomed siblings

7 notes · View notes

denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

Text

'I was about three episodes into the Netflix Ripley mini-series when I decided to read the Patricia Highsmith novel it was based on. A question about the setting of the mini-series sparked my interest in the novel. The series claimed to have been set in 1961, but it gave me feelings of post-war Italy, maybe 1949 or so.

The answer is that the Highsmith novel was published in 1955, which means that it captures a cultural sense of the mid-1950s. 1961 is not too far off from that.

By now, everyone should know that the title character, Tom Ripley, is a sociopath. The word “sociopathy” is not used in either presentation. The acting of Andrew Scott in the Netflix series captures the essence of a sociopath. Scott plays Ripley as awkward, autitistic, and anhedonic — Scott’s Ripley is one off-beat, creepy dude.

The opening scene in the Netflix series is a perfect representation of the sociopath in action. On the spur of the moment, Ripley intercepts a letter from a postal carrier by acting as if he is going into an apartment. He then uses the letter to scam the sender to send a replacement check to him by posing as a bill collector. He has to abandon the cashing of the check when he senses that he is about to be unmasked. The sequence portrays the opportunism of a lot of crime, which has to be the domain of sociopaths who do not hesitate a moment out of guilt or conscience.

In contrast, it doesn’t seem that Highsmith had a developed knowledge of sociopathy. Her Ripley is weirdly bipolar. He transitions from bouts of manic exuberance about his plans to bitter resentment about the injustices he feels he has been subjected to. Highsmith’s Ripley is not nearly as disciplined as the Netflix Ripley. In Highsmith’s novel, for example, Ripley just collects the checks from his victims without ever trying to cash them.

This could reflect the development of the idea of the sociopath/psychopath as a fictional type. We have had decades of tropes and caricatures about high-functioning sociopaths that Highsmith didn’t have. While the idea of psychopathy was introduced in the 1950s, sociopathy had been known since the 1930s.[3] One source describes the history of sociopathy as follows:

While psychopathy was yet to make its premiere in the DSM, sociopathic personality disturbance, or sociopathy, was included in the DSM-I. Sociopathy was developed in the 1930s and consisted of antisocial and dissocial reactions and sexual deviation (Pickersgill, 2012). Differences and similarities existed between sociopathic personality disorder and psychopathy, however psychopathy would not have its own category in the DSM until the publication of the DSM III. In DSM-I, sociopathic personality disturbance, antisocial reaction was defined as a diagnosis for chronically antisocial individuals who didn’t profit from experience or punishment and maintained no real loyalties (Pickersgill, 2012).

This could explain why Tom Ripley is not the smooth and charming manipulator we expect to see in more recent stories involving psychopaths.

It might also explain why Highsmith edges around the homosexual issue.

It seems clear from Highsmith’s novel that Tom is “same-sex attracted.” He is a young man (around 24 or 25) who has been “kept” by a wealthier male who treats him as a possession. Highsmith shares that Tom runs in homosexual circles and poses as a homosexual but is a virgin:

His mind went back to certain groups of people he had known in New York, known and dropped finally, all of them, but he regretted now having ever known them. They had taken him up because he amused them, but he had never had anything to do with any of them! When a couple of them had made a pass at him, he had rejected them — though he remembered how he had tried to make it up to them later by getting ice for their drinks, dropping them off in taxis when it was out of his way, because he had been afraid they would start to dislike him. He’d been an ass! And he remembered, too, the humiliating moment when Vic Simmons had said, Oh, for Christ sake, Tommie, shut up! when he had said to a group of people, for perhaps the third or fourth time in Vic’s presence, “I can’t make up my mind whether I like men or women, so I’m thinking of giving them both up.” Tom had used to pretend he was going to an analyst, because everybody else was going to an analyst, and he had used to spin wildly funny stories about his sessions with his analyst to amuse people at parties, and the line about giving up men and women both had always been good for a laugh, the way he delivered it, until Vic had told him for Christ sake to shut up, and after that Tom had never said it again and never mentioned his analyst again, either. As a matter of fact, there was a lot of truth in it, Tom thought. As people went, he was one of the most innocent and clean-minded he had ever known. That was the irony of this situation with Dickie.

Highsmith, Patricia. The Talented Mr. Ripley (pp. 79–80). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

On the other hand, everyone who knows Tom suspects that he is a homosexual. He is fixated on Dickie. He becomes jealous when he sees Dickie with his girlfriend, Marge Sherwood.

In the Netflix series, this backstory is not revealed. There are clues that he might be homosexual and attracted to Dickie, such as the weird scene where he dresses as Dickie, which prompts Dickie to tell Tom that he is not “queer.”

In the book, Tom’s two murders occur after homosexuality is derided. Before Tom murders Dickie, the two men are watching the gymnastics of a group of men that Dickie describes as “daffodils” by quoting lines from a poem. This sets Tom off on a chain of thinking about taking over Dickie’s life after he remembers Aunt Dottie describing him as a “sissy.” Later, Tom justifies killing Freddie Miles for accusing Dickie of “sexual deviation”:

The gin only intensified the same thoughts he had had. He stood looking down at Freddie’s long, heavy body in the polo coat that was crumpled under him, that he hadn’t the energy or the heart to straighten out, though it annoyed him, and thinking how sad, stupid, clumsy, dangerous, and unnecessary his death had been, and how brutally unfair to Freddie. Of course, one could loathe Freddie, too. A selfish, stupid bastard who had sneered at one of his best friends — Dickie certainly was one of his best friends — just because he suspected him of sexual deviation. Tom laughed at that phrase “sexual deviation.” Where was the sex? Where was the deviation? He looked at Freddie and said low and bitterly: “Freddie Miles, you’re a victim of your own dirty mind.”

Highsmith, Patricia. The Talented Mr. Ripley (pp. 140–141). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

However, Freddie didn’t make such an accusation. Tom killed him because Freddie had noticed him wearing Dickie’s shoes and Dickie’s bracelet.

In contrast, the Netflix series takes the Freddie character toward gingercide. In the novel, Freddie is a redhead, which disgusts Ripley. Highsmith writes:

The American’s name was Freddie Miles. Tom thought he was hideous. Tom hated red hair, especially this kind of carrot-red hair with white skin and freckles.

Highsmith, Patricia. The Talented Mr. Ripley (p. 64). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

And who doesn’t feel this way?

A lot of people, apparently, given the disappearance of soulless day-walkers from popular media.

In the Netflix series, Freddie is played by a former (or current) female — the actor is Elliott Summer, who, as it turns out, is Sting’s daughter. The actor who plays Freddie is obviously a woman trying to pass as a man, which means the character is obviously a woman trying to pass as a man, but nothing is ever made of this.

It was like Chekov’s gun was left hanging on the wall.

We are in a Heisenberg’s Trans situation. Is the fact that Freddie is trans part of the story, or are we supposed to pretend that the woman playing the man is a man in both the story and the real world?

Was the character/actor's sexual confusion supposed to be a stand-in for Ripley’s confusion? Are we now supposed to read the actor’s biographies as a metatext to understand the film?

I hope not.

But what does it mean? I don’t have a clue.

The conclusion was another difference between the two. In the novel, Ripley gets away clean. No one ever finds a photo of Dickie Greenleaf and realizes that they’ve been hornswoggled, which, honestly, is strange in retrospect. Certainly, photos were common enough in the 1950s for police to ask the family for a photo to show people in their search for Dickie. The subject is never raised, and the reader may never consider it.

In contrast, in the Netflix series, Tom dives into another identity with the help of John Malkovich, who played Tom Ripley in Ripley’s Game, a movie based on a later Ripley novel.

There are some fascinating details in both the novel and the series, but the characters never resonated with me. In both vehicles, the character of Tom Ripley is not redeemed by intelligence, cleverness, or charisma. In both, he reacts to circumstances. In the novel, the killing of Dickie Greeleaf is deliberate in the sense of being premeditated, but there is no deliberation about the crime or how Tom will escape. In the series, it is an emotional reaction that is thoroughly botched and results in Ripley nearly killing himself. Watching Ripley extemporize a cover-up, which he botched badly, was painful.

In the series, there are moments when Ripley almost displays the criminal competence that I assume he cultivates during the next four books. After that flash of competence, he quickly returns to form, doing imprudent and pathological things. We might be fascinated with his performance if he were competent, but he is such a klutz.

So, what is the enduring appeal of this book? There have been three Ripley movies or series, and the book has been in print for nearly 70 years. Why did I read it? Ripley is an evil man who deserves to have been captured and executed.

Perhaps, the answer is that — God help us — we are fascinated by evil. Maybe we all have an inner sociopath who is begging to be let out to play.'

#Patricia Highsmith #The Talented Mr Ripley #Ripley #Netflix #Freddie Miles #Dickie Greenleaf #Marge Sherwood #Eliot Sumner #John Malkovich #Ripley's Game #Andrew Scott

28 notes · View notes

disarm-you · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Electra ft Karen Page.

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Begging

Summary: Karen encourages Elektra to relieve Matt. All porn: riding, dirty talk, teasing.

Word Count: 1502

A/n: What ya’ll want is coming but Karen is a little shy. We have to get her comfortable.

Series Home

“You naughty, naughty girl.” Elektra whispered as she crawled her way up to Karen. She briefly licked Karen’s lips before softly kissing her. She slipped Karen’s lower lip into her mouth, gently teasing her until she popped it back out of her mouth.

”What do you want to watch me do?”

Karen pauses to think but Elektra was stirring up her arousal, again. She lowered her voice despite knowing that Matt could still hear her. Grinning, she says: “Can you make him beg?” Her eyes filled with sinful darkness at the question.

A look of pure enjoyment spread across her face. “As you wish.” Elektra pressed a kiss to Karen’s cheek.

“This is going to be fun. C’mon love and follow my lead.” Elektra gets off Karen and stands near the bed, extending her hand to Karen’s.

“Oh, I see you’re still here, Matty. I’m very proud of you for behaving yourself.” Elektra said as she sauntered back into the living room.

“Did you have a nice time out here?” She teased.

”Thanks for holding these for me, Matthew.” Karen whispered in his ear as she picked her panties off his shoulder. The scent of fresh arousal on her made his nostrils flare.

Matt could barely contain himself. He was intoxicated with their essence. His blood, alight with fire, buzzed through his veins and pounded in his ears. Their pheromones hung heavy in the air and his desire for them seared in his groin.

“You’re welcome, Karen. I enjoyed the opportunity to hear you two ladies. It seems you both had a nice time.”

“You two sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.” Karen giggled as she took a seat on the couch. Elektra found herself seated on Matt’s thighs, noticing the damp spot of precum on his pajama pants. Her hands danced along his arms, appreciating the gooseflesh left in their wake.

“We did. In fact, we would still be back there but one of us was concerned about you.” She said, shooting Karen a look.

“Guilty.” Karen chaffed, lifting a hand.

“Well Karen is always considerate of others' needs.” His thighs tensed as he leaned forward as much as he could, attempting to goad Elektra.

“Hmm. That sounded pointed to me. What do you think, Karen?”

“Yeah, it sounds like he is disappointed in you, Ellie. What are you going to do about that?” She asked, attempting to spur the situation.

Elektra sighed heavily. She leaned forward and placed her hands against Matt’s head, thumbs resting on his temples. She began to slowly massage him, thumbs rolling against his temple and fingers grazing against his scalp. Once she felt him begin to relax beneath her he lowered her tracings down the sides of his neck, down onto his shoulders. She let her nails graze against his skin, stopping once she hit his shoulders.

Matt was enjoying the minor bits of physical touch, still intoxicated from listening to them pleasure themselves.

Elektra pulled herself forward, lips hovering just out of reach of Matt’s. “I’m not going to do anything.” She husked, lips barely grazing his as she spoke. “Love, do you mind coming over here and standing behind Matt?”

Excited, Karen stood up before answering her.

“Is here ok?” She said, stopping directly behind him.

“Yes and now, can you just lean forward a bit.”

Karen followed Elektra’s instructions until her breasts were pressing against Matt’s back, her face next to his.

“I fear he is going to be no fun this evening. Can we play some more?”

Karen nodded yes and rushed forward to kiss Elektra

Matt thought he was going to combust. At least it was the closest to Heaven the Devil would ever get, seated between two beautiful angels as they gave each other pleasure. Their heat surrounded them and he was drowning in their sounds: their delicate moans as they deeply kissed. The way their hearts raced at different speeds. Their perfumes clung to the arousal already heavy in the air and left him dizzy with want. He instinctively reached forward to grab Elektra’s hips but his handcuffs stopped him.

Elektra pulled back from Karen’s kisses. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we bothering you?” She mocked.

“No, mistress.” Matt replied, sighing through his teeth.

”That’s what I thought, Matty.” She praised as she moved her hips forward, until she was grinding on his covered erection, resuming her filthy kisses with Karen.

Karen enjoyed seeing Matt like this. Hearing his heavy breathing and feeling his muscles twitch as she and Elektra kissed had pleasure building back between her thighs. She brought her hands forward, draping them over his chest as she tongue kissed Elektra. The movement made Matt’s chest heave and she took it upon herself to explore the thick muscles beneath his shirt.

The sensation was phenomenal and Matt’s legs began to quiver beneath Elektra.

“Please.” He requested, barely above a whisper.

His voice made the women stop kissing.

“I’m sorry Matthew, what was that?” Elektra teased as she grinded herself harder in his lap as she ran a gentle hand across Karen’s cheek.

The sight of him squirming had Karen rubbing her thighs together to relieve the desire.

”Please.” He blurted out.

“Please what?” She teased

”Please touch me, Mistress. I need you so badly.”

“Do you, now? Hmm,how unfortunate for you as I am very busy, Matty.”

Elektra shot Karen a questioning look, silently asking her what she needed. Karen nodded her head in response, biting her lip in anticipation. As much as she liked seeing him struggle, she was ready to see him fall apart.

“Oh, Matthew you are lucky Karen is here tonight. We both know you don’t deserve this but our guest is asking me to accommodate your request.” She whispered against the shell of his ear before reaching down to remove him from his pants.

Her touch was firm and he groaned at the contact. She only gave a few passes before he cock was twitching and fresh precum spilled from his tip.

Elektra moved in to place a few quick pecks to his lips as she ran her folds along Matt’s cock. Matt’s breathing picked up and Karen enjoyed seeing the muscles tense under his jaw in anticipation. She took the opportunity to run her fingers down the taut muscles, enjoying the way it made him quiver.

Elektra also noticed and decided to sink down onto his cock in one motion.

“Mistress you feel absolutely fucking amazing.” Matt moaned as she bounced on his cock.

“I know I do, sweetheart.”

Karen watched as she rode Matthew. Their breath was coming out in soft huffs and they rocked in a way that only two people familiar with each other could. They were hypnotizing to see. Without thinking, Karen walked behind Elektra, straddling Matt so that she could embrace Elektra from behind.

“Is this ok?” Karen asks as she begins to fondle Elektra’s breasts.

“Yes it is. And I know Matt likes it.” She whined as Karen pinched her nipples, Elektra’s fingertips marked up his shoulders.

Elektra picked up the pace as Karen continued to fondle her and kiss the side of her neck.

“I’m going to cum soon.” Matt warned for Karen’s benefit, not Elektra’s. And he noticed what the warning did to Karen’s body.

Elektra maintained her speed but picked up the intensity in his lap. Time started to slow for Matthew. He was moaning loudly, the feeling of Elektra’s pussy pulsing around him shot electricity through his body. He dissolved into pleasure, spilling into Elektra’s body as she rode out every last drop.

Their movements slowed, following their breaths. Elektra’s hands gripped Matt’s shirt as Karen held her from behind.

While Elektra and Matt enjoyed their afterglow, he could still smell and sense Karen’s arousal.

“Let us take care of you, I know you need it.” He demanded in her direction.

“Thank you Matt but I am ok for now.” She replied, swallowing hard. After a few moments Karen moved to get up, looking around for her previously discarded panties.

“Love, are you ok? Would you like to stay for dinner? Or dessert.” Elektra tenderly asked.

”Yeah, I am good Ellie.” She replied as she put on her underwear. “And I think I would like to stay. But let me help you.” She said before taking off to the bathroom.

Smiling, Elektra looked at Matt. “She’s going to be a lot of fun.”

”Oh yeah she is. I can’t wait to ruin her.” He chuckled as Karen came back with a washcloth and the clothing they left in the bedroom.

“Is there anything specific you want? I can order while you two get cleaned up.” Karen said as she got herself dressed.

“Yeah, let’s get Chinese. I have a menu in that drawer. Some of our favorite dishes are starred. Can you order us some chicken and get whatever you like?” She answered, pointing to a drawer in the kitchen as she padded off to the bathroom.

#daredevil #matt murdock #elektra #karen page #matt murdock x elektra #Tuna-Tober 2024

7 notes · View notes